


Senseless Mind Games (Batman vs. Jigsaw)

by Impendingdoom777



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Saw (Movies)
Genre: Combat, Crossover, Gen, Manipulation, Mystery, Serial Killer, Traps, superhero, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impendingdoom777/pseuds/Impendingdoom777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arnold Wesker, the forgotten B-list villain in the Batverse, accidentally falls prey to the whims of a serial killer using traps. The vicious nature of the crimes forces Batman onto the scene to investigate. Unfortunately for Batman, he will have to travel a long road to discover the identity of the killer and the motive behind it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senseless Mind Games (Batman vs. Jigsaw)

# Chapter 1

 

Arnold Wesker smashed Kyle Genicci in the face with a plumber’s wrench, knocking out several teeth.

“Where did ya hide Glack Mask’s dough you imgecile!?”

Out of his bloodied maw he replied, “Honest Wes...Mr. Scarface, I only manage his bank accounts! After he withdraws, he moves the money to a safe place that no one knows about. Please! No! NOT AGAIN”

A stomach churning thud. More missing teeth.

“I smashed ya in the face a second time, and enjoyed it even more. You wanna try for a third gud?”

“Please Mr. Scarface! I don’t want to hurt him anymore!” Wesker begged his ventriloquist dummy. “If the poor man doesn’t know, then he doesn’t know.” He began to cry into his unoccupied arm.

“Shut up ya gig gagy.” Scarface replied in his hoarse, chain-smoking, mob accented voice. “The guy knows where he hid the money!”

Wesker proceeded to loosen the vice on the wrench and then secured it to the lower jaw of Black Mask’s associate.  After the set up, he methodically tightened it to cause excruciating pain whenever Genicci ostensibly lied.

“Tell me now Genicci!”

“I don know!”

Crunch.

“Where’s Glack Masks money?”

“Plea sop”

Crunch.

“You don’t have very many teeth left. Just tell me!”

“Ok Ok. Alrigh. He keep ih ah huh pier at 457 Goham Dock in a sorage unih.”

“What did he say boss?” asked one of Wesker’s cronies.

“He said he keeps it at the pier at 457 Gotham Docks in a storage unit stupid! Finish off this trash gefore I throw up lookin at this gloody mess he left gehind.”

 

“No Mr. Scarface! You said you would let him live if he told you where it was! Please don’t kill him!”

Genicci died from a flurry of bullets from Scarface’s tommy gun.

 

Unfortunately for Kyle Genicci, Arnold Wesker’s split personality disorder attained dominance over his weak mind in that situation and every other scenario where a decision of right and wrong had to be made.  At a young age, his masterful ventriloquism act brought him fame and fortune. Overtime though, the death of his parents brought him into a deep state of depression. During a bar fight, Arnold killed his pugnacious counterpart and was shipped to Black Gate Pen under the charge of second degree murder. After displaying some deep psychological illnesses, the warden transferred him to Arkham Asylum, where he suffered under the treatment of Professor Strange, a sadistic and mentally disturbed psychiatrist. While enduring Strange’s treatment, he acquired a ventriloquist dummy by the name of Scar Face. This dummy, named after Al Capone, bore striking resemblance to the 1920s style gangster. Adorned with a pinstriped suit, hat, and cigar in the mouth, Wesker made him his personal friend. He performed for his fellow inmates. In every skit, he replaced all B’s with G’s to add to the authenticity of the speech since the dummy always had a cigar in its mouth. His perfectly accurate performances lead to the development of a split personality disorder. Wesker battled Scarface’s personality every day, but he eventually gave in. Now, he terrorizes the streets of Gotham as a drug and gang lord that constantly feuds with rival crime syndicates. He strives to become the best. He strives to take over the other gangs and make them one. He strives to shoot Two-Face, Penguin, Black Mask, and all of the other crime lords in Gotham in their arrogant faces. Secretly though, he strives to regain control of his own emotions.  

# Chapter 2

 

No city can boast a night as dark as Gotham City’s. That includes the absence of light, and the actions that transpire. Wesker arrived at the address that Kyle Genicci gave him right before his murder. This night is no different than any other. Splashing through the puddles left by an earlier thunderstorm, Wesker’s gang approached the storage unit and pulled out cutting torches and crowbars.

“Alright guys, careful on the goods inside. We don’t wanna spoil the spoils” Scarface mused as he sat back and watched his lackeys plunder his prize.

After about ten minutes of work, the storage unit door came down and so did their moods. In the middle of the unit stood a gigantic, sturdy safe with a red and white swirl of graffiti centered on the ragged surface of the door. 

“What the hell! We’re lookin at the root of all evil here boys. Glack Mask really loves his money. This is personal now.” Shoving one of his hires out of the way, he grabbed the cutting torch and went to work on the door of the safe.

“Give me that crowgar Rhino.” Wesker snatched the crowbar out of his henchman’s hand and wedged it in the molten crevice that he created. “Oh my God! What did they do to you Mask!?” Inside the safe, Black Mask’s reeking, mutilated corpse held his mask in his right hand and a suitcase in the other, also carrying the red and white graffiti swirl.

“Boss I’m out of here.” Yelped one of Wesker’s associates. “I ain’t gonna get tied to no murder. Especially not no mob boss.” While running away Wesker peppered him in the back with about thirty rounds his tommy-gun. He walked over and sadistically fired one more in his head for good measure. “There, now you don’t gotta get tied to no murder.”

“Was that really necessary Mr. Scarfa…”

“Shut Apppp! Let me work here Arnie.”

“Yes Mr. Scarface.”

Wesker approached the suitcase and pried it from Black Mask’s hand. The red and white swirl, which he knew he had seen before, sent a shiver down his personality’s wooden spine. Unbuckling the latches and throwing it open, a hiss of noxious chloroform gas overtook his, and his henchmen’s consciousness.

# Chapter 3

 

In the deep caverns of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne analyzed the video and the files from the night before. It puzzled him. After investigating the incident, he realized he had no idea who the culprit was. At one point or another, he had single handedly faced every crime boss in Gotham.  _It’s not Two-Face._ He thought to himself. _At least it’s a fifty-fifty chance that it’s not Two-Face. But, he never really had a major confliction with Wesker. Black Mask for sure, but not Wesker._

He closed his file on Two-Face and opened up his file on Penguin.

 **Birth Name** : Oswald Cobblepot

 **Street Name** : The Penguin

 **Assets** : The Iceberg Lounge

 **Known Enemies within the Last 5 Years** :

-Harvey Dent a.k.a. Two-Face

-Richard Sionis a.k.a Black Mask

-Arnold Wesker a.k.a The Ventriloquist

-Jervis Tetch a.k.a The Mad Hatter

“Alfred, please turn on GSN.” He asked his venerable butler Alfred Pennyworth.

“Right away master Bruce.” He replied.

The news anchor on the Batcave television echoed throughout the cave, “Commissioner James Gordon has just commented on the strange occurrences last night on the Gotham Docks.” Gordon’s face appeared on the TV screen “So far all we know is that Richard Sionis is dead and Arnold Wesker has been kidnapped. At this time, we do not believe that Wesker had anything to do with Sionis’s murder and we do not believe Sionis’s men are responsible for Wesker’s kidnapping. Whoever this guy is, he is new. All we know is that he left his signature mark on both the suit case and the safe.” The anchor returned onto the screen to transition into another opinion. “The government watchdog group, who calls themselves the Gotham Defenders also commented on this situation.” The spokesman from Gotham Defenders, Joseph Griffin, appeared. “Before the 500 casualty Joker massacre that happened last year on April Fool’s Day, Gotham City looked up to the Batman. Obviously, his choice not to kill the Joker when he had the chance caused the public to turn their back on him. But before their enlightenment, they released comic books, movies, video games, etc. in honor of the “Caped Crusader”. Look at the symbol left behind. It resembles Oswald Cobblepot’s umbrella from the whimsical and very inaccurate version of our city from the movie Batman Returns. That godawful Tim Burton production led Penguin or some looney bin imitator to commit the murder and the kidnapping. No doubt, this is gang related. To be fair, I could care less what happened to either of them. I only care about the gang war that they might have started on the streets of Gotham. Do we really need any more eldritch, insane, and brutal crime on behalf of Gotham’s worst? Will this spark a brutal retaliation? Once Jim Gordon pulls his head out of where the sun don’t shine, he’ll see that the Penguin is behind this. The GCPD’s incompetence has affected us for the last time!”” Joseph slammed the microphone on the ground and stormed off.

The broadcast ended with some trivial information on the coming Mayoral election, and some petty crimes throughout the city. Alfred turned to Bruce, “Master Bruce, do you truly believe the Penguin is behind this? Could James Gordon, the man that oversees the safety of Gotham, be so wrong in his allegations?”

“Despite their hatred for me, the Gotham Defenders are correct more often than not when it comes to corruption and crime. They even helped expose the inner workings at the GCPD when Loeb was commissioner. It’s natural that they would be skeptical of Gordon after the reign of tyranny that they saw out of Loeb. Also, the symbol left behind astonishingly does resemble the umbrella. Still though, it doesn’t seem quite right. The only way I’ll know is if I pay a visit to Cobblepot.”

“Very good sir. Hopefully you can make the Bird squawk.” Alfred ascended to the next floor through the elevator. _Symbols aren’t really Penguin’s MO. The Joker uses symbols but nothing about this situation was humorous. He wouldn’t go to these lengths without being rewarded with a laugh._ Bruce, filtering through his results, searched his database for symbols and other paraphernalia connected to his rogue’s gallery. In less than five seconds, he determined his second lead.

* * *

 

**?**

* * *

 

“How could I forget you Nigma?” He sighed.

# Chapter 4

 

Arnold woke up in a filthy warehouse smelling of oil and rot. Immediately, he noticed the lack of his conduit for channeling his second personality. After taking in his surroundings, he determined that he was secured to some kind of conveyor belt, and only had the ability to move his arms. He attempted to move the rest of his body, but was met with hard failure. Above him was a damaged television screen that played constant static. All he could hear was the muffled whir of machinery in the distance and the soft white noise from the TV. Wesker, still drowsy from the knockout gas, couldn’t quite remember what happened or how he ended up there. Nervous and insecure, he called out for his puppet.

“Mr. Scarface.” He whispered in a whimpering voice. “Mr. Scarface! Where are you sir?”

Out of nowhere, the television screen above him transferred from static to a grainy picture of a puppet much creepier than Mr. Scarface could ever be. The dummy, with its pale ghostly face and jet black hair, left an impression on Wesker. _Look at_ _Its cheeks. It has the red and white swirls on its cheeks. Just like the symbols at the docks._

Wesker screamed, “Mr. Scarface please help me! I’m so scared sir!”

The puppet on the TV began to speak in a deep menacing voice. “Hello Arnold. I want to play a game. Throughout your whole life, you were a successful entertainer; however, your mental state went downhill after your parents died. You have ruined countless lives with your murders, racketeering, narcotics sales, and thievery. In fact, Kyle Genicci was paid to entice you here. You murdered him too. Unlike many of my patients, not all of this is your fault. Mr. Scarface has forced you to do the unthinkable. Today, that all ends.”

Arnold, formerly paralyzed because of his restraints, noticed a slightly audible, mechanical click. Taking advantage of his opportunity, he thrust his head up in the air and looked around. In the room he saw three wood chippers sitting in a parallel fashion. The puppet from the TV sat in physical form on the right wood chipper, he sat on the middle one, and dear Mr. Scarface sat on the left one. The puppet on the screen continued to talk.

“In 20 seconds, all three of these wood chippers will activate, and all three of you will move forward towards them. It will take 20 seconds for the parties that be to enter the wood chippers to become shreds of flesh and wood. That gives you a total of 40 seconds to make a decision. You may save yourself by saving the dummy on your right. His name is Billy. Removing Billy from his conveyor belt will stop both of your belts from moving towards the chipper. If you remove Scarface, you and he will die together in your own wood chipper. Either way, Scarface dies. Save yourself Wesker. Break the hold that he has on your life.”

Wesker then realized his situation, “Oh God No! No! I know who you are! Please no!” Besides the perpetrators of massive terrorist attacks, only one serial killer held more renown that the maniacs from Gotham city, Jigsaw. A flood of information came back to him from the news reports that everyone had seen. Jigsaw, using incredibly brutal and creative tactics, forced people to torture themselves in order to force their will to live to surface. Nearly all of Jigsaw’s surviving victims resented him for it. On the other hand, some viewed their experiences as rewarding and life changing. Every person that came in contact with one of his traps had a jigsaw puzzle piece-shaped section of skin removed from them for a reminder of their trial. Through all the adrenaline, Wesker failed to notice the pain in his side. Indeed, Jigsaw had removed a piece of skin. By the time he finished recalling and surveilling, half of his time was gone. With a jolt, the conveyor belts began to move. The roar of the hungry shredding machines caused Arnold to flinch. The seconds felt like hours. What would be better, saving his best friend and subsequently dying, or breaking the bond that had caused him so much pain?

“Mr. Scarface, what should I do!?” He heard Scarface reply in his head, “ _Save me you guffoon! If I die, you die with me.”_

“But Mr. Scarface that’s not fair. Don’t you care about me at all?”

“ _Of course not you idiot! You have been my puppet all along. I say jump, you say how high. I’m the Goss in this operation, and if I tell you to save me, you getter do it. If not, I’ll just find somegody else to fill your measly position”_

He had ten seconds left.

“I always thought you were my friend. Even though you were mean to me this whole time I thought you would at least care about me if I died. I was so wrong Mr. Scarface… I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not sorry at all! I can’t…I won’t save you!” After Arnold’s revelation, he grabbed Billy as fast as he could and stopped the belts with three seconds to shredding time.

 _“Goodgye ya piece of crap.”_ stood as the last words that Wesker ever heard from his slave master.

Arnold watched in curious horror as his abusive companion of so long met his inevitable doom. Wood chips flew across the room smacking Arnold in his face, leaving several splinters. Scarface was no more. Wesker, rid of the conduit, wiped the little trickles of blood that the shrapnel left behind. He then confidently, optimistically, and foolishly placed his hand inside Billy to see whether or not Scarface’s personality would disappear. Scarface, now physically gone, took his personality with him through the wood chipper.

He exploded in joy, “Yes! Your gone Your gone Your gone! Good Riddance!”  in a very sardonic tone he asked, “How does it feel to die Mmiisstteerr Scarface?” He audibly thanked not only God, but Jigsaw for freeing him from his oppression. He picked up Billy, and ran out of the warehouse as fast as he could.

# Chapter 5

 

Upstairs in the Iceberg Lounge, the Penguin sat with two working girls, a bottle of champagne, and five hired thugs. In addition, a large emperor penguin rested next to the designer couch where Cobblepot and his ladies were seated. Down below, the speakers blared trap and trancestep on the dance floor.

“How can those people actually enjoy that eardrum pumping ruckus?” Oswald asked in his thick British accent.

“Well boss, I don’t really think it matters. They pay you to get into the joint. Hey Tommy go check the door will ya, somebody just knocked.”

“Ok.” Replied Tommy, who proceeded to check the peep hole. “No way! Boss it’s the Bat! We’re screwed.”

Confident and ready to negotiate, the Penguin told him to stop his sniveling and open the door. “I’m innocent in the mah’er that he is investigating, I don’t need to be afraid as long as he follows his rules.” Batman, prepared for advanced interrogation, strode into the room.

After looking at everyone dead in their face he asked in his deep gravelly voice, “What do you know about Black Mask’s murder and The Ventriloquist’s kidnapping. Several leads pointed to you having knowledge.”

“Batman, if you are referring to the red swirl umbrella statement made by the Gotham Defenders, I’m afraid that you have hit a dead end. You know full well that they did both you and I a disservice with that movie.  Even that feline floosy Selina Kyle didn’t deserve the way they portrayed her.”

“Don’t play games with me Penguin.” Batman said sternly, “Remember the last time you failed to cooperate?”

“Yes Batman, I remember it very well indeed. You have kicked my arse way too many times for me not to cooperate, so there is no need for violence. I do have a tasty morsel of information to pass along though. Turns out that Somebo’y contracted Deathstroke to take out the Mask. I don’t know who, and I definitely do not know why. I will tell you how I got the information though. I have a friend in the city morgue who told me that the wounds that Mask suffered are consistent with wounds that he has seen on Deathstroke’s past victims.”

“Correlation does not imply causation Cobblepot. I’m gonna need a bit more from you before I start interrogating Deathstroke.”

“Why is that Batman? Are you scared to face him again? Last time he nearly beat you, and your scared, admit it.”

“I have no fear Penguin, at least not of Mercenaries and fat, quivering, birdlike men.”

“That’s it! Get out of my place of business before I call the police. Walking out now doesn’t mean that you are a pansy or anything else, because we have already established that you have nothing to prove. Get out!  I will not be insulted in my own home!”

“A displeasure as always Cobblepot.”

Batman walked towards the door with an intuition that Penguin was going to strike from behind. In this case, he was dead wrong. After opening the door, he received a skull rattling punch in his face that sent him flying across the room.

Penguin walked up to his dazed body and gloated, “I told you I couldn’t beat you Batman, but guess who can? Your ole chap Bane! You see, I was being honest when I said that I have no idea who hired Deathstroke for the hit. It’s not my business to know who hired what mercenary. But now you know who I hired Batman. Hey Bane, rip him a new one you brute!” Penguin and his men hurried away to a hidden safe house that not even Batman knew about.

Bane screamed “Si Señor Pengüino!” in agreement with Penguin’s request. Bane leapt on top of Bruce and hammered away. Blow after Blow, he felt himself losing his strength as ribs cracked, flesh bruised, and bones broke. He picked himself up and executed a tactical escape right in front of the upstairs window. Charging at full speed, Bane attempted a spear, one of his favorite moves during his old wrestling days. Despite his trauma, Batman dodged the charge and Bane went sailing through the window, fell several stories, and landed on several erected tables covered with beer bottles and champagne glasses. Raining down batarangs from his original perch, Batman aimed for the venom tubes that carried the strength enhancing drug throughout his body. He nicked one and slashed another. Batman, unsatisfied with the effect, tossed an EMP grenade next to Bane’s venom supply in order to stop the flow.

Angered by the sudden turn of events, Bane stood up and taunted Batman. “No Batman. That won’t help you in the slightest hombre. I had some friends change this to a completely mechanical system. None of your fancy gadgets will stop the flow.” Immediately, Batman chucked an ice pellet in his face and mechanically activated the steel cleat attachments in his boots. With his face covered in ice, Bane could not see Batman’s diving cleat kick which busted open several blood vessels. The force of the kick threw him back on the ground into the pile of glass shards.

By this time, the panicked crowd had fled the building and Batman saw his opportunity to end the fight. “Batmobile Activate.” The Batmobile revved up its engines and quickly arrived at the entrance to the Iceberg Lounge. BANG. Batman felt his ears ring as Bane landed a punch right in the back of his titanium encased head. Ignoring the large pieces of glass stuck in his back, Bane reentered the fight. Like a rag doll, he slammed Batman through walls, pillars, and surrounding tables. “Batmobile!” PUNCH “Initiate nonlethal weapons systems!” Body slamming him with all of his dead weight, Batman almost didn’t have to fake passing out. “50 mil cannons activate.”

“Yes Sir” replied the Batmobile’s synthetic voice. “Automatic targeting activated.” Even from a distance, one could hear the thump, thump, thump, of high density rubber rounds pelting Bane all over his body. Screaming in agony from the stinging blasts, Bane moved further back into the Lounge.

“Batmobile…cough” Batman struggled to relay his commands. “Activate… cough… Battering Ram…cough.”

The Batmobile’s chassis pulled back, and metal plates slid and rearranged. With a felled tree looking object in the front, usually to break through walls, Bane ignorantly faced his worst nightmare.

“Batmobile…cough. Engage!”

The Batmobile sped at full force and struck Bane at center mass, propelling him straight out of the back of the Lounge. Desperately in need of recovery, Batman detached Bane’s venom supply, entered the Batmobile, and headed back to Wayne Manner to receive medical care from Alfred.

 

# Chapter 6

 

After the fortunate turn of events, Arnold Wesker returned to his childhood home. Exhausted from the day, he ate a quick snack and laid down to sleep. The TV in the room, in need of much repair, turned on and commenced its message.

“Hello Arnold. You remember me from before don’t you?”

Hearing the voice of Jigsaw, he sprang up out of his bed in a defensive position.

Crying, he replied, “I already survived one of your trials! What else can a I learn? Please leave me alone.”

“Don’t be afraid Arnold, I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t get to congratulate you on your personal achievement. You will notice Billy on your nightstand. Please accept him as a replacement for Scarface.”

“You were in my room!? Where are you!?” Wesker stood up and grabbed the revolver next to his bed. Even though the room was consumed by darkness, he thought he saw a figure near him. Pulling the trigger as fast as he could, he fired all six rounds and in the process illuminated the room with the light from the muzzle flash. He saw the silhouette of Billy imposed on his wall against the light. He turned the lamp on next to his bed and found Billy with six smoking holes in his little wooden body.

“I’m sorry Billy, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. You’re just a puppet though. You can’t feel pain.”  Wesker lifted his new award for outstanding achievement and began a new act with the dummy.

“It’s ok Arnie, I understand. I’d rather get hurt any day than to see my best pal scared.” He made Billy say in the deep voice that he heard on the screen. “I just want to be your friend and see you live a happy life, become successful, and have a family. But most of all Arnie, I want you to be able to help people.”

While Jigsaw extracted the parasitic personality of Scarface out of Wesker’s life, he implanted the womb of his psyche with a brand new personality in its fetal stage. Wesker couldn’t even see it coming.

# Chapter 7

 

“Ouch! Not so hard Alfred!” Bruce yelled, as his butler tightened the bandages on his bruised body.

“Would you like to be injured even longer master Bruce? After all the times I have sewn you up, set your bones, and mended your various other ailments, I would think that you wouldn’t complain.”

“I need to get back out there. Wesker is too unstable to be subjected to any trauma. He could come out of this more murderous than anyone ever imagined. I went over the conversation with Cobblepot over and over again in my head. He is probably telling the truth.”

“Who else in town would hire mercenaries like Mr. Wilson though?”

“I have one more Mob boss to interrogate. Dent hasn’t said no to hired killers in the past. I think it’s time I pay him a visit.” Standing up, Bruce sucked in a sharp gasp of painful air. Swisstttthhh. After taking several steps, he stopped and sat back on the bed. Very rarely did he ever experience such helpless situations. He had patrolled with severe injuries in the past. Thinking back on his early days as Batman, he even remembered a night with the flu. _That night was awful.. I almost slipped in my own vomit._

“Master Bruce I insist that you do not go visit Mr. Dent tonight. Another replay of what happened with Cobblepot could send you to the grave instead of our little make shift hospital.”

“Unfortunately, your right Alfred.”

“Should I contact master Tim?”

“No, he’s busy right now scoping out the new cryonics lab in central Gotham. We secretly met with the owner to ensure that it’s Mr. Freeze-proof. The _last_ thing we need is a newly empowered Victor Fries. Contact Dick and see if he wouldn’t mind taking the night off from Blüdhaven.”

“Very good sir. It seems you are listening to the voice of reason after all. So what is on your schedule now that you have a night off?”

“Oh no Alfred, I don’t have a night off. I’m going to visit Nigma tonight. His recent turn for good might be enough to pacify him. I’m not expecting any fights.”

“Suit yourself sir.” Alfred sighed in disappointment.

# Chapter 8

 

Around 11 P.M., Bruce cruised down the road at about 85 miles per hour in the Batmobile. Now that Nightwing was taking the Two-Face lead, he felt a sense of relief. _Nigma should be easy to deal with. He has been the last several times, and he has that new fiancée. If he committed a crime of this magnitude, he would lose too many important aspects of his life._ Pulling into an old alley way, Batman shifted into first and parked the car. _He actually has an address now. No more hideouts or riddle houses._

“Batmobile, activate cloaking mode.”

“Yes sir.” With the cloaking mode engaged, the Batmobile became almost invisible. One would have to bump into it to know it was there.

Because of his new found admiration for Edward Nigma, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Straying from his usual style of no-knock raids, Batman simply walked up to the front door of his apartment and knocked. 

A muffled, “Coming!” came from behind the door. Nigma opened the door and scowled.

“I’ve done nothing, go away.” He started shutting the door, but Batman stopped him.

“Nigma I don’t suspect you of anything yet, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

A cheerful, “Who is it Eddy?” Sang out from deep inside the room. Nigma refused to answer her. “Eddy who is it?”

“It’s Batman ok Kelly? It’s Batman.” Slightly frightened Kelly Nigma walked to the front door.

“Batman, what has my husband done? Be straight with me.”

“I haven’t done anything! I already told him that!” Edward looked at his new wife with intense emotional hurt. “I told you I’m a changed man.”

“Can we just hear what Batman has to say Eddy?”

“Talk now stupid. I don’t have all night. On second thought, I don’t want my landlord seeing you with me here. I’m not getting evicted for no reason.”

“Why don’t we all three go on a walk Eddy? This can be the way that you prove to me once and for all that you truly are changed.

Conceding to her request, Mr. and Mrs. Nigma took a stroll with the Batman.

“I’ll start with a light hearted question, when did you two get married?”

“Last week.” He replied.

“Well that explains why I still thought you were engaged.”

“Cut the crap Batman, what do you want?”

“Have you seen the news on Wesker and Sionis?”

“Yeah I saw.”

“What do you know about it?”

“All I know is what’s been on the news.” He lied.

There was a rustling in the bushes beside them. Several children in zombie costumes burst out from the bushes in a loud moaning. Mrs. Nigma grabbed at her throat and fell on the ground wheezing. After realizing that they played their prank on Batman, they jumped the nearest fence and ran for their lives. Batman turned around and saw Edward medicating Kelly with an inhaler.

“She’s terrified of zombies. It’s a silly phobia that she picked up from watching too many zombie movies, but that situation scared her into an asthma attack I guess.”

“Do you need any help Edward? I have a contact that’s developing a new medical technology that is 90% effective at curing asthma.” Batman held out a business card with Wayne Industries lettered on the front.

“Why are you trying to help me! After all the beef we have had in the past, I’m surprised you aren’t trying to crush my skull. Don’t you remember the time I almost dropped Robin into that vat of acid because he couldn’t answer that very simplistic riddle? Don’t you remember the time I killed that entire group of hostages and framed you for it? I only got six months for that you know?”

“Edward, if you are a changed man then you are no longer my enemy. I might suspect you from time to time when a crime fits your MO.”

“My past MO.” Edward interrupted.

“If that is true, then there is no reason why we cannot be assets to each other.” Batman extended the business card again. Edward took it from him and shook his hand. Good luck Batman. I honestly never thought an encounter like this could happen.

“Tell me if you hear anything about the case.”

He crossed his fingers behind his back, “Will do.”

Batman fled back into the alley and took off in the Batmobile. Both Edward and Kelly watched him as he zoomed away.

“You’ve convinced me sweetheart. I believe you.”

“I love you Kelly. Are you ok though? Do you need another dosage?”

“I love you too, and no I’m ok. Let’s go back to the apartment huh? It’s too dark and we’re in the middle of the road.”

Within a minute of walking back to the apartment, an assailant in a pig mask knocked Edward out cold with a crow bar.

Kelly put her hands to her face in fear and looked down at her husband, “Eddie! Oh my God!” She turned to the assailant and spat, “You monster! What are you!?”

The monster pushed her to the ground and forced her into unconsciousness with a rag soaked in chloroform.

“That’s the last one that we need.” The monster said in a monotone voice.

# Chapter 9

 

SIX   HOURS  BEFORE  MRS.  NIGMA’S  KIDNAPPING

Arnold Wesker went to his favorite spot in the living room, the couch. It was 4:49 P.M, so he knew his favorite childhood show was about to come on. He went to the kitchen, made his favorite meal, grabbed his favorite beer out of the refrigerator and plopped back down on the worn-out leather couch. Today’s work had worn him out. Because of his hours of practice with Billy, the cosmetic work that he completed in the house, and tending his garden in the heat, he definitely needed some sustenance.  He popped the cap off his beer and listened to the happy Looney Toons title sequence that played through the TV. Allowing the nostalgic vibrations to wash over him, he accidently fell asleep. His dreams tormented him. Jigsaw was back again. Wait a minute, was this even a dream? He opened his eyes, and to his dismay his TV had substituted the giddy storylines of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck for the bust of the eerie puppet.

“Hello Arnold. Sorry to keep bothering you, but I wanted to ask you a few questions. Think about the answers to yourself. Are you grateful for the removal of Scarface from your life? Do you want to help other people just like you? How far would you be willing to go? I ask you these questions for one reason. I need to retire. Only a person who experienced the release that my traps give could take my place. Only a person like you would understand. Whether or not you take my offer, I have a very releasing trap planned for tonight. If you would like to come watch and learn how to help others like I have helped you, call this number. 555-487-8965. You don’t have to talk. Just by dialing the number you have said yes and an associate will come by to pick you up.”

Wesker waited for a while and thought about the options.   _Well, if I say no…_ His mind went blank. _If I say no, then I will be turning down my best opportunity to help people like me. But, If I say yes, then I’m technically returning to a life of crime. Do I really want to do that?_

Performing a ritual very common to his life, he shoved his hand up the dummy’s back and asked the difficult question to Billy, “What should I do friend? Should I help other people and face jail again? Those people there aren’t as nice as you are Billy.”

Wesker made him answer, “Well Arnie, I think you should do what you feel is best, but don’t you owe it to all of those who are trapped in their bondage? Plus, it would make up for all the mean things you helped Mr. Scarface do. What if someone else has Mr. Scarface breathing down their neck? Wouldn’t you like to help that person?”

“Oh yes I would!” Wesker growled in an unsettling manner. “I would go to the ends of the earth to save someone from Mr. Scarface’s mean ways.”

“I think you have your answer then Arnie.” Through his puppeteering he made Billy smile.

“I think your right Billy. It’s time to seize the chance to help people.” Wesker picked up the phone and dialed the number. Somehow finding a tune in the tones of the buttons, he joyfully bobbed his head back and forth. Jigsaw’s implanted personality had matured in a very diabolical way. This time, Wesker would be happy, eager, and guilt free in his crimes against humanity. He waited several minutes until a black minivan pulled up. Locking the door behind him, he opened the side door and entered the car.

“You are Mr. Jigsaw’s associates correct?”

“That is correct Arnold.” replied a man in a pig mask. “You’re going to go watch the boss work.”

The driver zipped down the street and headed towards the location of his internship.

 

# Chapter 10

As Arnold Wesker traveled to his location, Dick Grayson paid a visit to Two-Face at the Fair Chance Casino. Nightwing grappled onto the roof and slid down a ventilation duct straight into the kitchen. The noisy conditions allowed him to quietly sneak by the workers and past the guards. Cocking a new projectile camera system from Wayne Industries, Nightwing looked down a long hall, held his breath, and fired several miniature cameras into the wall. After surveilling the vicinity from his special vantage points, he noticed two guards armed with MAC 10s in front of Two-Face’s office. Dick popped a tear gas pellet and threw it right in front of the guards. The thugs, distracted by their own coughing fits, failed to see the Flying Grayson’s escrima sticks swinging for their faces. Several distinct cracks echoed down the hallway followed by two heavy sounding thumps. With his classic confidence, Grayson strolled straight into Two-Face’s office.

“How ya doin ugly? I’m here to find out if you hired Deathstroke for the Black Mask hit.”

Dent shouted back, “Next time you bust in here bat brat I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Harvey grabbed a twin set of brass knuckles off the table. A watchful eye could see that each one had the words _heads_ and _tales_ engraved on their business ends. “It just so happens that right now I got some of my own guys out there looking for Wilson.”

“Why the hell would you care Dent?”

“Because Mask was a mob boss. I hated his guts, but we got unwritten codes in this business. You don’t hire a mercenary to kill a boss. The only time a boss dies is when another boss bumps him off. This is a matter of respect.”

“Could you at least tell me where you sent your men.”

“No.”

“Please.” Nightwing giggled. Guess you didn’t think that I would ask nicely did you.

“Dammit.” Two-Face picked up his coin and flipped it. “No. I’m not gonna tell you. That answer goes for any other begging too. I ain’t gonna flip my coin all night punk.”

“Could you at least tell me why?”

“Because I said so!”

“Did you flip for that too?”

“DAMMIT” Two-Face flipped his coin again. This time it came up favorable for Grayson.

“Alright freak, I won’t tell you because I’m not a snitch. Just because I hate Slade’s guts don’t mean I’m gonna spill the beans on his location.” Anticipating another question, He flipped again.

“Will you tell me who hired him after you find out?” Nightwing grimaced as he played the odds of the coin.

“The coin says yes kid. Now get out of here. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. You know the drill. If you come back here on your own free will I’ll give you double the pain that I wanna give you now.”

Nightwing exited the building and headed back to Wayne Manner to relay what he had learned. Sitting in his office chair, Two-Face spun towards the window and looked out into the night.

“Man I hope they can get that SOB to talk.”

 

                              * * * * * *

Ping! A bullet ricocheted off of a steel column in an abandoned court yard. “Stop missing him Deadshot! Geez why do they even call you that?” Firefly yelled in his gas mask altered voice. Floyd Lawton was locked in a deadly gun battle with Slade Wilson. Rolling out of the way of Deathstroke’s rapid fire submachine guns, Lawton fired as many rounds as he could from his automatic wrist pieces; however, the brick wall that Wilson was hiding behind would not give way.

“Flush him out for me Lyns!” Yelled a frustrated Deadshot.

“You got it bullet boy.” Flying down in a spiral formation, Firefly held down the trigger on his nitro and tar hybrid-blend flamethrower. The twisting rings of fire forced Deathstroke out into the open. Seeing an opportunity, he jumped up onto a nearby ledge and slashed the fuel line to Firefly’s jet pack, causing him to crash into a wall.

“I hope your Boss didn’t pay too much for you two. I don’t know what it’s like for posers, but there is no room for failure in real assassin work.” Slade taunted. He might have spoken too soon though as Deadshot fired his rifle. The round hit slightly off his mark and pierced his arm.

“Agghh!” He screamed in pain. “Your dying for that one!” Deathstroke shoulder rolled on his good side and kicked Lawton in the face. After the subsequent adrenaline rush, he grabbed his telescoping titanium bow staff and began wailing on Lawton. Any prospector from the distance would only see a furry of blows, a tornado of metal and flesh. A swing to the gut, then a spear movement to the face, a leg sweep, and finally a resounding two handed smash down on top of Deadshot’s eyepiece. He was down for the count. Slightly out of breath, Wilson turned around to be greeted with a raging inferno. Out of sheer luck, the flames only contacted the armor. It made it a bit toasty inside, but he would live. However, the blinding light from the flames allowed firefly to move in closer. A series of quick kicks brought Slade to his knees.

“Burn in hell Deathstroke! Ha ha ha ha ha!” Firefly maniacally laughed as he took his flamethrower and painted Deathstroke with vibrant blue and orange flickers. Understanding the danger of the situation, Wilson leapt to his feet, grabbed Lyns around the neck and slammed him to the ground.

“No. You burn in hell you crazy firebug.” Wilson went on the offense with his sword. Slashing in a figure eight pattern, he cut through debris as Lyns ran for his life. In desperation, he kicked over a large piece of rusted machinery, causing Wilson to trip and fall. Regaining his footing, Wilson threw a dagger at a retreating Firefly. Lyns panicked and screamed in pain after hearing the woosh, woosh, woosh, woosh, woosh, splat of the dagger. With literal tears in his eyes, he looked down at the dagger in his leg, and looked back up to see Deathstroke less than three feet away. Wilson tore into Firefly with everything he had. The butt of his pistol broke cartilage and bones in his face. Satisfied with the damage done to Lyn’s, he prepared to do what an assassin does best. He would start with Lawton first. Walking over to Lawton, he heard Firefly cry out, “It’s not over yet!”

Deathstroke immediately turned back around calmly replied, “Oh yes it is.”

With more maniacal laughter from Lyn’s busted mouth, he ominously warned, “Oh no it’s not. Look behind you.” He spat out a tooth.

Spinning around as fast as he could, Deathstroke saw a hulking figure, then a quickly flying massive brown fist. The next thing he knew he was across the court yard. Clayface had joined the fight. With a disgusting squishing noise, Clayface transmuted his hands into two large hammers and pounded away.

“Raggghhhh!” He screamed through his muddy vocal cords.

The courtyard looked like a train wreck. Lawton, with a badly damaged eye and several broken bones, only now began to stand back up. Lyns sat there pulling the dagger out while spitting blood. Deathstroke looked like a crushed aluminum can that had been discarded. While Clayface left the fight uninjured, his grotesque features fit in the with the carnage.

Clayface offered his counterparts Deathstroke’s badly damaged body, “I saved him for you guys. So you guys could get revenge.” Taking turns, both Lawton and Lyns tortured Wilson in their respective ways until the boss arrived.

Walking onto the scene, Two-Face clapped his hands in admiration. “Alright boys, time to figure out who hired him.” He looked directly into Wilson’s swollen face and spat in it. “Who hired you to knock off Mask?”

Logical enough to except defeat, he gave them a fatigued response, “John Kramer. It was John Kramer.”

“Who’s that Wilson? Tell me or I’ll kill you!” Two-Face flipped his coin. “Yes! I’ll definitely kill you.”

“I don’t know who it was. They gave me three million to do it.”

“He’s tellin the truth guys. I can see it in his eyes. Always knew when a deponent was lying or telling the truth. He doesn’t know. I’ll make good on my promise though.” Held firmly in Clayface’s body, Wilson prepared for the brutal battery. Two-Face fastened up his specially engraved brass knuckles and jabbed over and over and over and over.

“Let him go Dent!” Whirling around in response to the voice, Two-Face saw Nightwing perched on a steel beam. It was already too late though. A swarm of smoke pellets blasted the ground and inspissated the air. All Dent could hear were the metallic sounds of Nightwing’s escrima sticks bouncing off of his thug’s bodies. A mechanical whir of a grapple here, and the snap of a flashbang there caused him to back up right into Clayface and Deathstroke.

“Boss do you want me to help you guys out?” asked Clayface thoughtfully.

“Of course I do Dirtface! Get in there!” To obey his orders, he dropped Slade on the ground and charged after Nightwing. Ever since his young days, he had dealt with Clayface. The battle brought back old memories of his long nights of companionship with Batman. No matter what constructs Clayface created, Nightwing already knew how to dodge them. Axe blades, no problem. Mace hands, no problem. Clayface morphed into a giant bowling ball and tried to crush Dick under his massive weight. A triple back flip helped him escape from the situation. He transformed his escrima sticks into a bow staff and turned on the zap function. Every contact point caused an electrical shock through his fluid filled body. At the first opening, Nightwing tossed a dart of specialized dehydrating formula into his titanic clay figure. Clayface took only three steps toward him until he crumbled into a pile of dust. Warmed up and ready to fight, Nightwing turned to Two-Face.

“Alright kid, that was impressive. I’ll admit it. You ain’t gonna stop uncle Dent though buddy.” Dent charged him with a Louisville Slugger and started swinging away. Grayson dodged the first couple of shots and simply grabbed the bat out of Dent’s hands. He flipped his coin and it landed on tails. “I’m out of here kid!” While he ran away, a blunted shuriken hit him in the back of the head and knocked him out. Grayson ran over to Deathstroke as fast as he could to get the information.

“John Kramer! The person who hired me is named John Kramer.” After securing all of the criminals tightly, Nightwing transmitted the message to Batman and went back to Blüdhaven.

 

# Chapter 11

Arnold spun around in the comfy chair that the man in the pig mask had allowed him to sit in. He eagerly watched the screen for Jigsaw to give the go ahead for the upcoming trap.

“Oh I’m so excited to see this person get the help he need.” Arnold cheered. The man in the pig mask replied,

“If ya say so. I don’t even know what exactly goes on during these events.”

“That’s a shame. Jigsaw gives people the help they need to overcome their obstacles in life.”

“I heard he just makes people kill their selves.  Or he just makes em mutilate the living daylights out of their own bodies. I nevva saw it for myself though, it might just be a rumor.”

“For sure that’s a rumor. He gives them a choice to change. Yeah, it was hard to let Mr. Scarface die, but I never had to mutilate myself. I’m sure that’s how this session will be.” He smiled, “It will be a challenge, but they will thank him in the end.”

“I dunno. I think the way he calls them traps is enough to make me stay away from it.” The man in the pig mask looked down at his phone and deciphered his cue to leave. “Hey I just got the signal. I ain’t supposed to be in here when he talks to you. I’ll drive ya home when this is all over. See ya then.”

“Bye bye. See you soon.” After the man closed the door, he spun right back around to the TV anxiously. The strength of the anticipation almost irked him. _Why isn’t it starting yet?_  Like all the children early on Christmas morning, he couldn’t wait for the surprise. Convinced that the pig man left the room, Jigsaw remotely activated the TV. Arnold heard the kurrsshh of the static and stared in expectation.

“Hello Arnold, tonight you are going to see me help five people overcome their psychological issues. I helped you get over your personality disorder. The topic for tonight is phobias. Watch all of the screens closely as you see each person face their fear and come out on top. You will get to see the introduction video that the whole group will receive. Most of all, make sure you have Billy close by, to help you remember your own experience and how it helped you overcome your own problems.”

 _What did he mean by “all of the screens”?_ He thought to himself. Suddenly, a projector turned on showing five different rooms. He couldn’t make out any detail though. Across each screen was written a formal name. Reading them from left to right, he saw Mr. Carr, Mr. Oliver, Mr. Rosario, Mr. Gaiten, and Mrs. Nigma. The trap had begun.

Kurrrsshh! “Hello contestants. I want to play a game. Throughout your entire lives you faced debilitating fears. Many times, these fears only caused minor inconveniences; however, every once in a while it badly injured your relationships. Tonight, you will face your respective fears. Each one will surprise you to your bones. You have four options tonight: fight back, run away, hide, or die. Within each one of your rooms, you will see the necessary equipment, vantage points, routes, hints, and designated “bases” in this game of hide-and-go-seek. The mentioned “bases” will keep you safe, but will inject you with approximately one hundred syringes of fear enhancing toxin. No one can guarantee against a heart attack. The moral of the story is don’t hide. Those are truly your only options. Each one of you will have one minute to surveil your area to help you make your decision. You will go one at a time while everyone else watches from their screens. The computer program will pick the order at random. Good luck.”

All five players, sweating bullets, heard a creepy minor key jack-in-the-box tune. When it ended, a room had been selected. It was time for Mr. Gaiten to face his fears. A pale flickering light illuminated the dingy, rotten smelling room. It reminded him of the time he had visited the Ocean during red tide. All the fish had turned up dead and the surrounding area reeked of their decomposing corpses. This of course took place before his phobia set in. Taking a quick glance around, Mr. Gaiten noticed that he had about two feet of ledge right before a drop off into an elusively deep pool of water. Next to him rested a pump action shotgun with sabot slugs, swimming goggles, ear plugs, and nose plugs. On the other side was the chamber that the video hinted at. The far wall display painted majuscule letters that said, “THE ONLY SAFE WAY IS TO FACE YOUR FEAR.”

“He’s gonna try to make me swim through this water.” He whimpered. At a young age, Gaiten had fallen off his father’s speedboat on a deep sea fishing trip. The irresponsibility of his parent boldly showed as he sank to the bottom. Apparently, his Dad never put him in a life jacket. Eventually fishing him out, he performed emergency CPR on him for resuscitation.  That defining day drilled a phobia of deep water into his subconscious. It prevented him from playing with his friends in the neighborhood pool. It led him to break up with a girlfriend who called him a pansy for not going out on the Lake. His aggregation of hindsight showed him the source of his manic depression. He simply couldn’t do it though. He could not get into that water. Therefore, he examined the little hide out spot that the psychopath who had kidnapped him spoke of.  He could see the sharp hypodermic points in this apparatus that resembled a gas chamber. He looked up at the clock on the wall. Only ten seconds left to decide. _Why did he give me this shot gun? Is it to commit suicide? He said I could fight back, run away, hide, or die. Surely facing my fear is fight back right? Um, hiding is in that chamber. Dying is committing suicide, but what is running away supposed to be._ Time was up, and he didn’t guess correctly. Beeep! An electronic gate could be heard screeching under the water. Bubbles effervesced to the top. _What is going on? What is in the water?_ He was glad he didn’t follow the wall’s message. Watching in terror, he witnessed scaly green hands grasp the ledge and pull up a disgusting looking reptilian head.

“Oh you’re gonna make a tasty snack.” Sang the unknown beast in a Cajun accent. “It almost makes these last couple days of starvation worthwhile. I can smell the fear in you.”

Gaiten backed into a corner with the shot gun in his hands. “I remember you from an article I read.” He trembled as he spoke. “They call you Killer Croc on the streets don’t they?”

“Yes they do you tasty little dish.” Kroc whipped his tail side to side and prepared for the lunge. Chick-chick BOOM! Mr. Gaiten fired a sabot slug right through the side of Croc’s nostril. The walking crocodile kept approaching. Chick-chick BOOM! The second sabot slug thudded right into Croc’s pectoral muscle. Croc roared in pain and took a step back. _Maybe the wall was right!_ Gaiten grabbed the goggles and splashed down into the water. With the adrenaline pumping, he momentarily overcame his fear. He looked around for a way to escape while he ignorantly thrashed about expelling too much oxygen. Kicking with all of his might, he came up to the surface for a breath. Drawing as much air as he could into his lungs, he dove down again, but to no avail.  He had to resurface again. The second he emerged, Croc was in the water too. Like a dream where you simply cannot run fast enough, Croc chased Gaiten to the depths of the deep dark water. To put it bluntly, there was a bite, a death twirl, a dead phobic, and a tasty meal for Arkham’s infamous reptile.

******

The jack-in-the-box tune commenced again. The four remaining victims prayed that they wouldn’t be next. Mr. Oliver cursed loudly when the lights turned on in his room. With power now running through the whole area, a mechanical door slid back. A horrid organic squealing noise assaulted his ears. Looking for a clue similar to Mr. Gaiten’s, he read the writing on the wall, EVEN WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE DARKEST VALLEY, I WILL NOT BE AFRAID. It was obvious that this allusion to the Bible symbolized the necessary walk through the dark tunnel to perform his escape. On a table, Jigsaw had provided him with the necessary tools to escape like he had given Mr. Gaiten. “Ok.” He said out loud. “The hammer is probably my weapon and the flashlight will help me see in the tunnel. He picked up both items and bolted off towards the tunnel; however, after looking inside he backed up. The flashlight had helped him locate the source of the shrieking.

He put his hands into his face and began to sob, “I can’t do it. Why did it have to be rats?” His tears watered the floor underneath him. During his teenage years, his rebellious phase landed him in a cardboard box. No home, no food, no water, and no love could be found in his life. One night whilst sleeping in an ally, a hungry pack of rats had crawled on top of him. In his sleep, their course hair on his face produced a dream of his childhood, consisting of a day in a meadow with his old dog. Mr. Oliver fleetingly gained a morsel of happiness. When he woke up, it disappeared. The sudden jerking movement startled the rats into attacking him. Anytime he looked in a mirror, he was reminded of that night due to the scars they left on his face. _They’re all in cages. If I run through as quick as possible I can escape._

Time was up though. More mechanical buzzing and an equal amount of doors slamming. A sound, similar to rushing water emerged from the tunnel. All of the rats raced towards him. Mr. Oliver ran up a stair case while constantly looking back at the scuttling little monsters that wanted to devour his flesh. _Why are they after me!?_ He screamed inside his head. He punted a rat that had followed him up the stairwell and watched it sail down to the ground. When his eyes witnessed the landing, he discovered the origin of the rodents’ bloodlust. Otis Flannegan, The Rat Catcher, stood with his hands waving about. Through special acoustic devices in his gloves, he directed the rats to attack Oliver. Furious with the unfairness of the situation, Mr. Oliver began stomping the gross little beasts into paste. A rodent leapt towards him, but he swatted it into the wall with the hammer.

“Leave my little pets alone you mongrel!” Flannegan exploded in wrath. He charged up the stairs with his standard chemical spewing device and tried baptizing Mr. Oliver in a mist of toxic poison.

“No! I’m not going down like Gaiten did!” Oliver pushed The Rat Catcher down the stairs. Sometime between then and now he had dropped his hammer. Like a mad man, he tore into the leaderless rats and unleashed his long pent up vengeance. He picked a rat up by the tail and repeatedly smashed it against a wall. _That was for the rodent encounter._ He kicked seven or eight rats off of the stairwell. _That was for the hunger._ He picked a rat up and snapped its spine, howling after discovering its paralysis. _That was for the homelessness._ He lifted a rat of the ground and unscrewed its head from its body like a cap to a soda bottle. _That was for the thirst._ Equipping Flannegen’s own technology, He engulfed the remaining horde of rats with the tank’s venomous contents. They would pay for the pain they were causing him. In his wake, he left a pile of toxin drenched rats, involuntarily twitching their tiny limbs. After his vicious killing spree, he crawled on top of Flannegan, lifted up a brick, and smashed him in the face until his brain matter sprayed all over the surrounding area. Mr. Oliver overcame the trap.

******

Once again, the jack-in-the-box tune echoed throughout the rooms of the remaining victims. This time, it stopped on Mr. Rosario’s location. Listening closely, Mr. Rosario heard a loud bang followed by the sound of pulsing electricity. The fluorescent lights, row by row, switched on to provide an adequate amount of light. After the room became visible, Mr. Rosario instantaneously panicked. He stood in the middle of a massive, high-walled maze. While the maze surely intimidated him, its contents performed the actual fear induction. His captor had covered the walls in substantial quantities of multifarious dolls.  Unlike many of his fellow victims, he had an undeniable excuse to be afraid. This was not the first time he had been kidnapped, and it was not the first time he experienced the horrifying qualities of dolls.

At the age of twelve, Mr. Rosario worked as a newspaper boy in his home town. Paid under the table, he received enough cash to finance a lifestyle that every twelve-year-old boy dreamed of.  His arsenal of entertainment usually consisted of pounds of candy, fire crackers, comic books, radio controlled vehicles, cap guns, and anything else that would satiate his curiosity or whims. During a steamy July afternoon, a windowless van cornered him on his paper route. The driver and the passenger, both in ski masks, threw him into the back of the van and took off for their destination. The whole way there, they punished him for talking with brutal strikes in the face. They blindfolded him and led him into an abandoned building. Removing the blind fold, they threw him down on the ground. He threw up after viewing the neatly stacked corpses of children his age next to a sacrificial alter. On top of the alter rested a filthy looking porcelain doll. Eventually, the police recovered the boy and carefully extracted the necessary information to indict and convict his kidnappers. It turned out that a cult, who called themselves The Animators, tried for weeks to bind the _purest form of energy_ to a childlike inanimate vessel. In this case, they considered children as the purest form of energy. They attempted to live up to their name by animating a vessel with a child’s soul. Unfortunately, they succeeded. If you can even call it lucky, Mr. Rosario escaped death. The Animators completed their task with the soul of the little boy that died right before his turn on the alter. After their revolting desecration, they forced Mr. Rosario to live in a room in isolation with this newly animated vessel. Day after day, the hideous doll stalked and taunted Mr. Rosario to the point of hysteria. After the police rescued him from his nightmarish situation, he received constant therapy to soothe his psychological damage. Additionally, the Gotham Paranormal society salted and burned the doll and helped the little boy inside escape from his captivity. Even though most of his emotional scars healed, the fear of dolls still remained.

Learning from the past two victims, he too searched for his message. FOLLOW THE MAP was written boldly across the floor. He grabbed the map, and kept his eyes trained to the floor while running through the maze.

An incredibly eerie voice asked, “Hey Mr. Rosario, where are you going so quick?”

Mr. Rosario stopped dead in his tracks. That was the voice of the doll that haunted him for that never ending month. _No… They burned you. It’s not you._

He spoke back to the voice, “I know that’s not you Henry! It’s just a trick.”

This time the voice came directly behind him, “How very astute you are.”

Mr. Rosario turned 180 degrees and met his tormentor. Barton Mathis, The Doll Maker, held a voice synthesizer to his mouth and said, “Mr. Rosario, I want to make you look extra pretty. I’m going to make you into one of my beautiful dolls.”

Before Mathis could finish his sentence, Rosario shot off down the corridors of the maze. He disregarded the map, and took as many turns as fast as he could to escape the lunatic that spoke in his worst nightmare’s voice. The unending rights and lefts ended him up in an area of no escape. The ghoulish, plastered-on smiles of the dolls jerked tears from his eyes. Attempting to stifle his sniffles, he crept around the maze for a good twenty minutes until he heard a circular saw in the next aisle. First, he noticed celeritous footsteps coming from his side and then SCREEEEECH of the saw slicing the concrete wall. Again he ran away from Mathis.

“Come back! Be a doll! You’ll be beautiful! I Promise!” Mathis shouted over his swirling blade of death. He eventually trapped Mr. Rosario in a clearing within the maze. There was nowhere to hide, and there was nowhere to run. Charging towards Rosario with the saw, he tripped over a piece of machinery and dropped his wireless weapon with an “oomph”. Seeing his opportunity, Rosario sprinted towards the opening but he too face planted. He looked back and saw the Doll Maker’s hands locking on to his ankle. Mathis dragged him over to a surgical table, threw him on top of it, and set down to recover.

“I’m not gonna just take it you freak!” Mr. Rosario shouted as he leapt off the table and again tried to escape. He heard glass break, saw stars, felt light headed, tasted blood, and collapsed on the ground.

“I’m sowwie Martha.” Mathis sadly said to his doll. “He really needs to look pretty and it was the only way. I’m also sowwie to you too Tommy and Sally.” He removed two porcelain dolls from the wall and bashed each one over Mr. Rosario’s head.

The shattered splinters of porcelain in his skull, combined with the impact, stole every last ounce of fight from him. Mathis strapped him into an alternate surgical table with motors and wiring attached.

“It seems you keep getting away by running and shoving and fighting back. We’ll have to stop that if you’re gonna be a pretty doll.” Mathis pushed the button on the control panel to activate the table. An atrocious ripping sound followed by an unhuman scream filled the air as The Doll Maker pulled off Mr. Rosario’s arms and legs. Meticulously, Mathis sewed on doll parts to his vacant limb sockets.

“There there now. You’re a pretty doll. Aren’t you happy?”

There was no way for Mr. Rosario to answer. His transformation into a _pretty doll_ had caused his death. He failed to overcome his fear.

 

******

With two victims left, the jack-in-the-box’s monotony almost drove them insane. This time, it selected Mr. Carr. He had made up his mind right after seeing Killer Croc devour Mr. Gaiten. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he wouldn’t be able to defeat his fear. Therefore, once his time elapsed, he climbed inside “the base” and slammed the door shut. Essentially, it looked like an upright hot tub with an excessive amount of jets, but also boasted protection of a thick door of bullet proof glass. His test began. Similar to the former victims, he heard an electrical pulse throughout the room activating the areas that pertained to his trap.

“Ha Ha Ha! Where are you Carr? You haven’t been hit by a car have you? He He He!”

“Mr. J ya know he didn’t get hit by no car, we’re inside puddin.”

The Joker slapped Harley Quinn for mouthing off, “I know we’re inside, you kill joy! You’ve ruined the joke!” Considering that Carr went straight for the defensive position, the two easily found him inside his hideout. “Come out of there why don’t you. We just want to have some fun. You know what I mean, clownin around and stuff.”

Mr. Carr pretended that he was just watching a movie. The protective glass covering served as a strong enough illusion for him to brainwash himself into believing in his defense mechanism. Mr. Carr hated clowns more than he feared them. Like Mr. Rosario, Mr. Carr had an acceptable explanation for his sentiments.

Carr’s father had an unlucky streak when it came to genetics. Physically, he had color blindness and a mild autoimmune disorder. Mentally, his touch of autism and personality disorders lead him into an abusive state. Whenever it came down to beating Carr, his mild autism allowed some emotions to seep through. He truly felt guilt. In order to curb that guilt, he dressed up as a clown to pass the blame onto another personality. Every time abusive occurred, it was Stretchy the Clown, it was never his father. When his father assumed this role, Stretchy showed no mercy. Eventually, the authorities rescued Mr. Carr and shoved him into the foster care system. His father, along with Stretchy, died in prison from the same treatment that he gave to his son.

He was safe though. The most nefarious clowns on the planet could not harm him. The Joker, now realizing this, grabbed his stiletto switch blade out from his pocket and began stabbing the glass. Harley grabbed her signature wooden mallet and pounded away; however, all of their assaults to his “base” yielded a low efficiency rate. The consequences of escape then commenced. Jigsaw’s face projected itself onto the glass and gave him an exclusive message.

“Hello Mr. Carr, it seems that you have taken the cowardly way out. If your current fear led you to these measures, I personally have sympathy for you for what you are about to endure. In five seconds after this video terminates, you will feel dozens of needles penetrate your flesh all at once. They will inject a fear toxin used by the Arkham inmate Scarecrow, which will lead to unimaginable dread. You relinquished the option to face your fear. Now you will face it in an enhanced way.”

One-one thousand, Two-one thousand, Three-one thousand, Four-one thousand, Five-one thousand, and Mr. Carr was turned into a pin cushion. All one hundred needles simultaneously stabbed into his body, spreading out equally among surface area. The shock of the excruciating pain heightened his senses to the point where he could hear the toxin pumping into his blood stream. No longer could he fend off the clowns as a movie. They were there. They were in his brain stomping around on his synapses. The Joker, Harley, Stretchy, and all of the clowns of pop culture held hands and spun around in a circle with him in center chanting and laughing. Jeers and taunts assaulted his ears. They charged him and equally distributed the time for abusing him. Kicking, tearing, biting, laughing, stomping, punching, whipping, hacking, and he was alone on the floor of his mind. With lesions all over his face, he turned to the giggling clowns. He couldn’t stop the images from flooding his subconscious. In a fruitless attempt, he clawed his eyes out to stop the images. To his surprise, they were nowhere to be seen. _Where did they go!?_ A disembodied cackle passed by his ear. “I’m gonna get you Thomas.” He heard his father’s voice say in his head. Even with his eyesight gone, the clowns wouldn’t leave him alone. During this entire time of mind imprisoned torture, The Joker and Harley laughed at their simple gestures that caused so much fear in this drugged man. Making a silly face caused him to flinch back and explode into tears.

“Jeez Harley, we needa work with Scarecrow some time. I never knew a power trip could be so funny!”

“Whateva ya say Mr. J.” Harley replied dreamily while admiring her own abusive counterpart.

The amount of toxin distributed to him caused severe effects, but only lasted about an hour. After the allotted time expired, the man in the pig mask came and shot The Joker and Harley twice in the chest and once in the head.

“The boss said you two was too dangerous to keep alive aftah this little hoe down. Trust me ya creeps, this one was personal. My daughter died in that Massacre on April Fool’s day. Ya got watcha desoived.” A simple street thug ended a reign of terror that haunted Gotham more than Stretchy had haunted Mr. Carr.

******

The last room required no selection. Once the lights turned on, Mrs. Nigma looked around and found herself inside a fairly picturesque looking ballroom. The middle of the room, containing a huge electronic safe, emanated a dangerous vibe. At the edge of the room, she located a door with a bucket of keys next to it. Her message read, ONE DOOR, ONE KEY, ONE LOCK. Dumping the keys onto the ground, she tried as many as she could. Her trembling hands dropped her efficiency and focus to about fifty percent of her normal levels. In the corner of the room, she heard the scratching of a record on a phonograph. A chilling tune began to play.

“Born on a Monday.”

She worked as fast as possible knowing where this trap was leading.

“Christened on a Tuesday.”

“Oh God please where is the key!”

“Married on a Wednesday.”

She still needed to try half of the keys.

“Took ill on a Thursday.”

“NO NO NO Damnit!”

“Grew worse on a Friday.”

 _I’ll die for sure._ She began to weep.

“Died on a Saturday.”

Approximately 10 keys remained.

“Buried on a Sunday.”

Anticipating the results, she stopped the fruitless search for the key and grabbed the fireman’s axe that Jigsaw provided for fighting back.

“That was the end of Solomon Grundy.”

The door to the electronic safe swung open and out stepped the notorious Gotham swamp zombie Solomon Grundy. Mrs. Nigma felt her bronchioles tightening and scratched at her itchy neck. Watching a zombie movie was bad enough, but to see this hulking monster in front of her sent her straight into aerobic arrest. With only one solution available, she charged at Grundy swinging the axe as hard as possible and burying it into his collarbone. Unphased, Grundy returned the favor by burying a meat cleaver straight into her skull. With her newly pinnate face, she dropped down to her knees and collapsed onto the ground. “Grundy not sorry!” The zombie screamed.

With certain foreknowledge of the event, the record on the phonograph in the back sang, “That was the end of Kelly Nigma.”

 

# Chapter 12

Arnold dropped his jaw in astonishment after watching the gruesome spectacle.

“Uhhh.. Billy? Jig Saw didn’t really help those people. In fact, three out of five of them died, and if you look up there Mr. Carr is still twitching from the fear toxin.” Wesker pointed Billy’s face at the screen so he could see too.

“Think about it this way Arnie. Would you have preferred to die, or let Mr. Scarface be mean to you for the rest of your life.”

“Well, that’s kinda hard to say Billy. I mean I guess I would have wanted to die. But weren’t those traps supposed to be the third option? I didn’t have to die, and Mr. Scarface certainly hasn’t been mean to me since then. I changed.”

“Yes Arnie, you definitely changed. Don’t you see though? Jigsaw tried to help these people, but they just didn’t want to be helped. They chose to fight back, hide, or just plain die.”

“I guess some of them did. But Mrs. Nigma’s life was kinda just left up to chance. It was a guessing game for which key let her get through the door. Plus, she couldn’t really fight back cause Grundy can’t feel any pain. Trust me Billy I know.” Wesker remembered back to a time where his gang smuggled several tons of drugs into the city through the swamps. Only after engulfing him in flame, detonating a pineapple grenade, and blasting him with several automatic weapons, were they able to deter him enough to escape.

“Try to understand how this works though. Those, who were strong enough, survived and faced their fears successfully. For those too weak to overcome their fear, they had the great escape of bereavement. Finally, don’t feel so bad for Mrs. Nigma. She had a quick clean death. Now she won’t be so afraid. Jigsaw freed her of her fear.”

“Yeah I guess your right Billy. Maybe we should actually meet Jigsaw and see if we can take over for him.”

“There’s only one problem though Arnie.” He made the dummy look confused. “We don’t really know where he is.”

# Chapter 13

The Gotham SWAT team started off on their route to escort Two-Face, Firefly, Deadshot, Clayface, and Deathstroke to Arkham Asylum. In this caravan of culpability, 4 MRAPs carried the dangerous goods. One truck held all of the convicts’ weapons, another held Clayface in a waterproof isolation chamber, a third held the three non metahuman combatants, and the fourth held the ironic victim in their battle, Deathstroke. In the middle of the inconspicuous prisoner shipment, a black hawk helicopter joined in the mix to keep a look out from the air; however, the pilots in this military grade air vehicle were compromised. Mostly, this resulted from the .45 caliber handgun pointed at the back of their heads.

“Ok. Radio in and tell them to stop on that bridge.” Commanded the hostile negotiator.

Kurrshhh, “All units in route to Arkham halt on the Westward Bridge.”

Kurrshhh, “Roger that. What do you see Vigilance?”

“Just tell them to have the first two vehicles proceed. Tell them that MRAP three and four appear to have been sabotaged.”

Kurrshhh, “Units one and two proceed on your way, it appears that three and four might have been tampered with. I repeat, it appears that units three and four might have been tampered with.”

Kurrshhh, “Copy that. Wilco.” Units one and two made their merry way back to Gotham city and three and four remained on the bridge.

“You don’t have to kill anyone, but fire at the MRAPs.”

“We don’t have any live ammo!”

“Guess what, we added ammo to your guns before you took off.”

With incredible disinclination, the pilot opened fire on Units three and four. The spectacle of rounds bashing into the sides of the vehicles induced the personnel from Unit three to flee from the scene.

“Land the chopper!”

“You’ll pay for this you know? Imagine Guantanamo on a whole new level buddy.”

“Bite me.”

After landing the helicopter, the hijackers pistol whipped the pilots and hopped out onto the ground. “Alright, let’s go gettem.” They trekked up to the MRAPs and wedged crowbars into the crevice of the door to open it. With a warped sense of reverence, they entered the door and knocked out the habitants of the van.

“K Boss. We got all three of them.” One of the hijackers relayed into his phone. The boss replied in a technologically altered voice.

“Good. Bring Dent, Lyns, and Lawton to the locations we agreed to. Also, free Deathstroke. No one messes with my hires. It’s time for them to pay.”

“You got it. We’ll have them there lickety split.”

The thugs broke Deathstroke free but received no gratitude.

 

# Chapter 14

Bruce had poured over his leads for the last 12 hours. For some reason, the obvious connection wouldn’t surface. None of the mob bosses knew anything, and Nigma seemed clean. Deep down inside, he knew that his answer laid far outside the box, but he couldn’t tap into his usual intuitions. Alfred came down the stairs and handed Bruce his work phone, “Sir. It seems someone is asking for Bruce Wayne, and it doesn’t sound like any of our regular contacts.”

“Hello, this is Mr. Wayne.”

A somber voice replied, “Hey Wayne…my name is Edward Nigma. Umm. We have a mutual friend that gave me this number. He…uh…it’s the Batman. I met with him last night, and soon after he left someone knocked me out and kidnapped my wife.” Bruce listened intently to what he had to say. “At least I am assuming they kidnapped my wife. I haven’t seen her since it happened and she won’t pick up her phone.”

“Have you called the police yet Mr. Nigma?”

“No. Honestly, I’m afraid they will suspect me.”

“Is there any reason for them to suspect you.”

“Absolutely not Mr. Wayne. If you could just contact Batman that would be great. Out of everyone in this city who can help me, he is the only one that will think about it in an objective way.”

“I have heard of you believe it or not. You used to be that guy who called himself the Riddler. Aren’t you a private investigator now though? Or you used to be one right?”

“Yes I am. In fact, I believe I am a better detective than Batman. I have a superior intellect, but two heads are better than one. I withheld some important information from him, and it came back to bite me. Please Mr. Wayne. I need his help.”

“I’ll see what I can do Mr. Nigma. Good bye.”

“Thank you.”

“Who was that sir?” Alfred inquired of Bruce.

“It was the Riddler. He lied to me Alfred. He lied to me and now his wife has been kidnapped.”

“Oh dear. Are you going to help him even after his criminal past?”

“Batman only holds a record of wrong when it comes to probable cause. I have to help anyone that needs it Alfred.”

“No matter how honorable it is; I will never understand it Master Bruce.”

# Chapter 15

When Arnold Wesker arrived home from his figurative training seminar, he discovered a note next to his television with locations and suggested trap ideas. Picking up the note triggered a video message to play.

“Hello Arnold. Now that you have personally seen my work, it’s time to make the decision. I have selected three individuals that require your help. The note I left you details their locations. After you learn who these poor souls are, you will easily be able to determine the ways in which you would like to help them. Additionally, the hired muscle will assist you with any difficulties you might have in setting up the traps or dealing with unruly behavior. Lastly, you will find recording equipment to make the introduction videos for all of your patients.”

 

“Ok Billy, I think it’s time.” Wesker placed Billy in his little decorated dummy holding box and called a cab. “I’m only putting you in here for a while friend. I’ll take you out when we get to the places on the note.”

Wesker hopped into his cab and set off for his first exploration of Jigsaw’s world.

# Chapter 16

Edward Nigma eagerly waited for the Batman to arrive at his home. _Wow. I never thought I would actually want Batman to pay me a visit._ Almost before he finished his thought, Batman’s menacing silhouette startled him. His powerful gate invoked the many memories of thwarted crimes and subsequent years spent in Arkham Asylum.

“Before we discuss anything else Nigma, I need you to tell me what you were holding back. Bruce Wayne informed me that you withheld information the last time that we talked.”

“I did Batman. I’m sorry. My damn ego getting in the way again I guess.” Nigma paused for an uncomfortably long time period. “I know who kidnapped Wesker.”

“Who was it, and how do you know?”

“I don’t know his actual name, but I know his alias. The symbol gave it away. The media dubbed him Jigsaw. For the last 10 years, he systematically placed people into deathtraps to try to get them to find their will to live.”

“I have heard of him. How does that symbol give you that impression though?”

“Several reasons actually. Come inside and I’ll show you.”

Batman and Nigma walked into his living room. Newspaper clippings littered the walls, and it looked like someone had detonated a clutter bomb. The condition of his place indicated the frantic nature in which Edward was looking for his wife. The lack of a woman’s touch was obvious. Nigma removed a pile of papers from the sofa and offered Batman a seat.

“I prefer to stand.”

“Whatever. So basically here is a compilation of articles that I have found on the Jigsaw killer. In his early days, way before anyone knew anything about him, he used to leave the symbol in the areas of operation. Yes, the same symbol that was left twice at Wesker’s kidnapping. It was easy to miss if you focus all of your attention on the scum in Gotham. Plus, there’s this.”

Nigma played a disturbing video file of a clown like puppet explaining the morbid situation to a victim on how he would need to find the combination for a safe within an hour or he would die of poisonous gas. The walls of the room that imprisoned him displayed thousands of numbers that could be the combination. However, Jigsaw had covered the entire floor with glass and basted the man in a flammable jell. It made his escape from the room nearly impossible.

“Batman, notice the symbols on the dummy’s face. I have probably ten more videos like this.”

“How did you get ahold of these?”

“The deep web.”

“Figures.”

“Anyway Batman, I told you what I was withholding, so please help me out now. I don’t have the tech that you do anymore, considering that time spent in prison has made me very poor. Due to my parole, they actually set up a CCTV camera in front of the apartment complex; however, I am not allowed to view the footage. Do you think you could hack the camera?”

“Give me a minute.” Batman left the apartment and contacted his technical assistant. “Oracle, I need the CCTV footage from a camera at Edward Nigma’s address between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM on Thursday. The serial number on the camera is 45-963-io-77.”

“Give me a sec Bruce. I’ll have it in a minute.”  Oracle looked through the custom CCTV database to find the specific camera, hacked the feed, and fed the footage to Batman’s holographic video projector cuff.

“Thank you Oracle. Standby for further requests.”

“No problem Bruce.”

Batman ran the video through filters to look for a plethora of indications. Within five seconds, he located the license plate number and the direction that the car traveled in.

“I need to track a car with the license plate number 778 JY6L. Utilize the CCTV footage around the area and plug it into the new mapping software to create a virtual map of the car’s travel.”

“Sure thing.” Barbara Gordon worked on the order in an effortless manner while reminiscing over the years Bruce and her collaborated on projects of all different types. In her early years, her days as Batgirl loaned him extra physical help. As Oracle, she now completed tasks that Batman could not on the street. While she knew deep down inside that the help that she offered him now far outweighed the muscle, she would never fully get over her paralysis.  In a melancholy tone and a reflective tear in her eye, she replied, “Here you go Bruce, this plots out the exact route that the car took. Oracle over and out.”

Batman reentered the apartment and alerted Nigma of the development, “Get your gear if you still have it, I might need the help depending on who kidnapped her.”

Nigma equipped his famous Riddler costume and spun his question mark staff around in a defense position. “I forgot how much I actually like the feeling of this thing in my hands.” Batman opened the hatch for the Batmobile and motioned for Nigma to get inside. After climbing inside, he looked at Batman with an astonished face. “I never thought that I would be riding inside the Batmobile without a restrictive mechanism.

“There’s a first for everything I guess.”

# Chapter 17

Garfield Lyns woke up in chains. His closest recollection was the sound of bullets smacking the escort van like a technical death metal blast beat. _Where am I? Man I hope I’m not in some torture dungeon being punished for failing Two-Face._ In this middle of the room, rested a wide hole in the floor. The grimy tiles almost caused him to slip as he shambled over to see the bottom of the pit. Approximately 20 feet below, long rusty railroad spikes littered the floor and a pulley system sat in the center. _Ahhh ok. That really sucks._ Firefly thought to himself after realizing that his captor had anchored his bindings to the pulley system in the pit. In the corner of the room, a screen lit up with the usual Jigsaw puppet staring.

“Hello Garfield. You need help. I want to help you. You like fire too much and it makes you be mean to people. So maybe if you got burned or something then you wouldn’t be mean to nobody else with fire. So that little crank in the bottom of that hole will pull you inside and you’ll land on the spikes and die unless you catch your arms and legs on fire. It will kinda melt your skin so you can slip out of the chains and get away and get some help. Please don’t try and let yourself die.”

Even though Garfield revered the pain he would have to go through, he still stood in confusion.

“What kinda nut is this? He sounds like a little kid. How did he rig all this up with a mentality like that?” The pulley system activated and jerked him onto the floor. With the wind knocked out of him, he stood to his feet and hastily grabbed the gasoline and the lighter. The years he had played with fire, too numerous to count, left him with several third degree burns. Burn pain was no stranger in his life. He could do it. He could last through the pain even if the severity overcame anything he experienced. Dumping gasoline on his ankles and wrists, he breathed in and out deeply to steady himself for the impending inferno. Courageously, he flicked the lighter on and attempted to light the fuel soaked limbs. The fumes from the gasoline ignited before any of the fuel, incinerating all of his exposed hair in a fireball. In a hiss of pain, he quickly reached down and lit the target areas.

“Agghh! Oh my God that burns!” Lyns screamed in exquisite pain. The chains pulled him closer and closer to a pointy death, and he pulled harder and harder against the chains. His skin, substantially melted, acted as a lubricant to slip out of the chains. The chains snapped down into the hole like a rubber band after they stopped binding Firefly.

“Hey you freak; you didn’t help me at all! If you can hear me, all you made me want to do is burn you twice as bad and twice as hot! I’ll kill you if I find you!” Babying his injured limbs, Garfield limped out of his prison and disappeared into the night.  

# Chapter 18

The lack of conversation to the destination left a stale, false feeling of animosity between the two. “So Batman, what’s your favorite color.”

“Don’t have one.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Don’t have one.”

“What’s your favorite comic book villain?”

“I hate them all equally.”

“Why are you such a kill joy?”

“Is joy something that usually strikes fear into enemies?”

” Are we enemies?”

“No. Not right now at least.”

“This is the location correct?”

“Affirmative. Be on your guard. Your emotional state could compromise your integrity or cognitive abilities.”

“Why did you bring me along then? Rumor has it that you prefer to work alone anyways.”

“Because this is the first chance to see if you are really changed, or if this is all an act. Plus, you figured out the riddle to who kidnapped Wesker. I have always respected your critical thinking skills Nigma, even if they were almost always used against me.”

Nigma silently reflected over Batman’s explanation as they entered the building where they had taken his wife. They slowly forced their way through the path of destruction left behind by Jigsaw. They crossed off many items on their checklist of morbidity. One man mauled to death by a reptilian humanoid. The familiar bite radii revealed Killer Croc to be the predator. A room of fetid decomposing rats and a deceased Otis Flannegan with a pancake face. Another dead man; however, the congealed pool of blood and flesh prevented closer inspection without making an infectious mess. From their observation distance, they could discern a lack of limbs and a substitution of doll parts. In the middle of the floor of the next room, a man lapsed in and out of fear induced seizures. Batman recognized the ailment and inoculated him with an antidote to Scarecrow’s toxin. On their way out, they spotted Joker and Harley Quinn’s corpses. A strange reverence for their dead bodies overtook him.

“Looks like they did what your code never permitted you to do.”

“Even though I do not condone their actions, I won’t lie. I appreciate their crime. I never thought I could say that about a murder. Too long have these maniacs killed the innocent. Their murderer did what I could never do.”

They approached the final room. Batman held Nigma back from the room and sincerely looked into his eyes.

“Throughout this gauntlet of terror, we have seen some of the most disgusting treatment of human beings. Collect yourself and go into that room with a mental guard. You have no idea what happened to Kelly.”

“I’m ready Batman.” Nigma held his staff in a defense position while Batman blasted the door open with C4.. In a tactical charge they burst through the opening, ready for anything. With his jaw as far down as possible, Nigma witnessed Solomon Grundy feasting on his dead wife’s disembodied leg. Her lifeless eyes stared at him in a wanting manner that suggested, _Eddy, can you please remove this meat cleaver from my head? It killed me._

Nigma doubled over and puked his guts out in disgust and pure despair. Grundy looked over after hearing the squishy noises of Nigma’s heaving.

“Batman! Grundy Hate Batman!” He charged the two in a daze of zombie rage. Batman spun around to block Grundy’s view with his cape and tossed an adhesive bomb in Grundy’s face. With sharp short strikes, Batman drove the blinded zombie back towards the safe in the middle of the room. Nigma stood up and delivered repetitive strikes all over Grundy’s body with his staff. Twisting the controls on the grip, Nigma released an acid edged blade on the curve of the question mark and slashed away all over his body. The smoking cuts emanated a pungent smell of rotten flesh soaked in ammonia. Using Batman’s back as leverage, Nigma pushed off, completed an aerial twist in the air, and drove Grundy into the safe. Batman slammed the door shut and discovered the true culprit. Jigsaw’s symbol stared them in the face.

“Nooooooo!” Nigma sputtered through his tears. “It’s my fault! If I would’ve just told you beforehand, maybe she would still be alive. My ego. I… I’m so sorry Kelly.”

# Chapter 19

The gloominess of Kelly’s funeral ruined the rest of most of the attendees’ day. Not only did her death depress them, but it angered them. At least half of the crowd blamed it on Nigma. That felon was nothing but trouble and caused her death either directly or indirectly. The other half blamed Jigsaw for the murder. Since the discovery of the trap, the country’s media extensively covered the history of the killer and warned citizens of a possible revival of his spree. “I’m sorry about your wife Edward. Maybe contacting our mutual friend didn’t help the situation?”

“It has nothing to do with Batman Mr. Wayne. Batman didn’t do anything wrong, nor did you. The blame is shared equally between Jigsaw and me.”

“That’s not true Edward. Even though you withheld the information, Batman couldn’t have possibly known that she was kidnapped after he left. Please don’t blame yourself. By the way, I am picking up the cost of the funeral.”

Taken completely off guard Nigma replied, “You don’t have to do that Mr. Wayne.”

“I know I don’t. But its already done. Go home and rest.” Bruce walked off and Alfred opened the door to his car. Turning around he repeated, “It’s not your fault Ed.”

The moment Bruce drove away, a man with a prosthetic leg walked over and talked in a low tone. “Mr. Nigma? My name is Dr. Gordon. I used to be an associate of Jigsaw. Near the end of helping him out with his work, he became too deranged to give people a fair chance to escape. I convinced him to retire. If this is really him, he needs to be caught.”

Looking from side to side, Nigma confirmed that no one was spying or eavesdropping on them. “If that’s true, I only need his name.”

“I’ll give you more than that.” Dr. Gordon handed Edward a filed stuffed with documents. “Every trap he has ever put in use. Transcripts to his intro videos. Suggested victims. Personal information. It’s all there. He cannot start up this business again. It had a place in this world at one time, but no longer. His name is John Kramer. Good luck Mr. Nigma, if he killed your wife bring him to justice.”

Nigma stared at the file in his hands with amazement. _He took the only reason for me to change away. One more time. I will become the Riddler one last time._

# Chapter 20

Arnold spent the last week in a lethargic state. The disappointment of his failure was too hard to handle. _I forced that man to light himself on fire for no reason. Plus, he insulted my efforts to help him and threatened my life._ Wesker equipped Billy to channel some sympathy for himself.

“Arnie why are you so sad.”

“Well Billy. I tried to help someone by following Jigsaw’s plans, but I didn’t do so well. I made him hurt his self for no reason.”

“Do you remember the time your Dad was teaching you how to ride your bicycle?”

“Yeah. That’s a good memory.”

“Remember though that you fell off your bike multiple times. After a while, your Dad’s coaching and your own practice helped you ride the bike with ease.” Wesker smiled and imagined the nostalgic scene. “With Jigsaw’s coaching and your own practice at helping people, you will become a master trap executor.”

“You always know how to pick me up when I’m feeling down Billy. Motivation is your best skill.”

“That’s why he gave me to you Arnie.”

“I think I’ll give it another shot.”

“That’s a wise choice.”

# Chapter 21

John Kramer relaxed in front of the television with a cold beer in his hand. Retirement, while earlier than expected, treated him well. Despite the widespread news coverage of the recent Jigsaw killings, Kramer rested easy. He knew the police wouldn’t be able to track the killings down to him because someone else did them. Someone had finally taken the mantle of Jigsaw. A day of yard work, which sapped his energy, converted itself into an early bedtime. He walked over to the lights and switched them off. “What the hell?” Glow in the dark, green question marks dotted his living room walls.

“Hello Kramer. You killed my wife. Your gonna pay for what you have done.”

“It was only a matter of time before a family member discovered the truth and went after me. Judging by the gimmick, you seem to be that Riddler fellow from Gotham city. I guess what goes around comes around. What’s my fate?”

“Well first I’m going to break a couple of bones and knock you out.”

“Oh yeah? Then what?”

“That’s all for now.” The Riddler pounced on Kramer with raging vengeance. With his brass colored alloy staff ablur, he whacked John Kramer in his arms, breaking several bones. “I told you I would knock you out too. So here you go.” With a log splitting swing the staff crashed down on Kramer’s head. The bludgeoning strike sent him to dreamland.

# Chapter 22

Bruce studied all of the footage that Nigma lent him from the Jigsaw murders, and compared them side by side with the video of Lyns’s trap that the police loaned him. Their desperation, quite apparent, directed Jim Gordon to personally work with Batman once again. After running it through voice correlation software that Wayne Tech developed, he removed the technological masking on the voices of the videos. The original videos sounded almost identical to the killer’s voice; however, Firefly’s video revealed a voice that Batman knew all too well, Arnold Wesker. ”Alfred, Jigsaw kidnapped Arnold Wesker and has somehow convinced him to either do the videos for the murders, or carry out the murders himself.”

“So you mean to tell me sir that during this entire time of looking for Arnold Wesker, he didn’t want to be found?”

“I don’t know if he is being forced or not. I still need to determine the identity of Jigsaw before I can reach any concrete solutions.” Batman ran Jigsaw’s voice through voice print tech. The algorithm, narrowing down the results to one man, named John Kramer as the culprit. “According to the address database, he lives at 499 Sunbird St. Alfred. I’m going after him. Tell Robin to try and locate Two-Face and Deadshot. They already put Firefly in a trap, and I’m assuming the other two will find a similar end.”

“I’m right here Bruce.” Tim Drake called from the entrance to the Batcave. “I’ll head to Wesker’s house to see what I can see first.”

“Tim be careful. Jigsaw is a master at abductions, and has a creatively sadistic mind.”

“Gotcha. I’ll keep an eye out. I was trained by the best you know?” He hopped on his motorcycle and took off for Wesker’s house.

“That is true Master Bruce, he was trained by the best.”

# Chapter 23

John Kramer’s eyes winced after the giant neon question mark flashed in his face. For the last several hours, the darkness allowed him to doze off. Even though the pale greenish light dimly lit the room, he could see that the Riddler strapped him to the chair. With the current visual data, he couldn’t logically assume that he would face a trap of his own.

“Helllllllllooooooo John!” Riddler announced over an intercom in his sarcastic voice.  “How cliché would it be to simply put you in one of your own traps? Then again, how cliché would it be to put you in a puzzle game too? So guess what? We are going to combine the two. However, you will die no matter what. Unless Batman saves you of course. It’s always been my luck that the most important times for revenge get foiled by the Batman. I understand the purpose of your traps. It is almost admirable to boost the will to live, so we are going to see your will to live combined with your cognitive ability. Utilize that noodle of yours! You haven’t evaded the police for years through stupidity. So LETS! GET! STARTED! Here are the rules. You will navigate from room to room and put the answer to the riddle into the lap top. If you require hints, you will need to punish yourself to get them. Failure to answer the riddle will kill you. Welcome to your own world John Kramer. Turns out you really do reap what you sew.”

The entire room lit up with a much brighter glow of multiple question marks. In the glow in the dark paint, it started with a fairly easy riddle. WHAT GETS BIGGER IF YOU TAKE AWAY FROM IT? John Kramer, who already knew the answer, walked up to the lap top and entered HOLE into the answer slot. The door opened and provided entry into the next room. The second that he left the room he heard a deafening crash. Spinning around to locate the sound, he noticed that the floor in the previous room collapsed into a massive hole. “So the riddles deal with the traps. That will at least lend some insight to my possible death.”

“Why yes they do Jigsaw. Good job. That was a very easy riddle though.”

When he entered the next room, he found a substantially lengthier riddle on the wall that read, A MAN NAMED TOM GOES TO A PARTY. HIM AND THREE GUESTS GO INTO A BACK ROOM TO PLAY SOME GAMES. A FEW HOURS LATER THE FOUR OF THEM ARE DISCOVERED DEAD. ONE WAS BEATEN WITH A SHOVEL, ANOTHER HAD A DRILL BIT IN HIS HEAD, AND THE OTHER HAD BEEN CLUBBED TO DEATH. TOM HAD NO MARKS ON HIS BODY. HOW DID HE DIE. He looked around the room for anything related to his possible death. All he saw were some slots in the wall. In addition, he heard the sound of an air compressor running behind the wall. _Well it might shoot something out at me. I honestly have no idea what the answer is though._ He eyed the neon button that read HINT that Riddler placed inside a closet looking enclosure. “Let’s get it over with.”  Ready for anything, he pushed the button. Panels slid back and greeted him with a shovel to the face, a billy club to the chest, and a drill slid out and bit straight into his thigh. The brief yelp of pain stopped abruptly due to the blow he received to the head. Luckily, Riddler placed no time limit on the riddles. It allowed Kramer to stand up and reevaluate the situation. Inspecting the objects more closely, he noticed that he decorated the shovel with spades, the club with clubs, and the drill with diamonds. He determined that all of the decorations on the objects corresponded to pips on playing cards. In the riddle, the deaths covered clubs, spades, diamonds, but not hearts. _It’s gotta be a heart attack._ He hobbled over to the lap top while holding his leg, and then placed the answer into the system.

“That’s correct Mr. Kramer! Too bad you had to get your nasty blood all over the keyboard.”

“Yeah that’s too bad. Is this all you got.” Kramer mocked in an angry manner. The little tools stunt didn’t go over too well with him. “I’m sure what’s her face endured a whole lot more pain than I did.”

“Don’t worry Kramer. You’ll get yours.” While entering the next room, the slots on the walls fired throwing cards with heart pips engraved on their razor sharp edges.

Unlike the last room, the door slammed shut behind him after entering. In the top corners of the room rested decently sized nail bombs. His past usage of these devices produced a healthy fear of shrapnel into his subconscious. The riddle on the wall read, WE CAN BE LONG OR WE CAN BE SHORT. WE CAN BE GROWN, AND WE CAN BE BOUGHT. WE CAN BE PAINTED, OR LEFT BARE. WE CAN BE ROUND, OR SQUARE.

 _Straight to the hint again I guess. No reason to pretend that I know. I guess I could stall and just let myself starve._ “Riddler I’m done with this nonsense. I’d rather starve to death.”

“Deal! I’ll come back every day or so to see your body becoming more and more emaciated. Plus, if you change your mind you can keep playing.”

 _The longer I wait, the longer I have for the Vigilante to show up._ Kramer thought. The decision was made. He would press his luck.

# Chapter 24

Robin sent a transmission to Batman through their com link to explain the situation. In his forgetful nature, Wesker forgot to remove the note that Jigsaw left for him. It was the beginning of the end of Wesker’s operation. “Hey Batman, it turns out that Kramer gave the reigns over to Wesker. I even found a copy of the video file that he played for Lyns in the fire trap.”

“So Kramer went into retirement and employed Wesker to keep up his work. Did you see any indication of someone framing him? I’m asking because he only expressed violent tendencies through Scarface, and Scarface wouldn’t have any need for this type of violent behavior.”

“Maybe Scarface wanted the money or the power? Can split personalities change their desires?”

“Probably not Robin. It is more likely that he would just create a new personality in order to fulfill any desires like these. Scarface is either out of the picture, or it’s not Wesker.”

“What’s more likely?”

“If I had to guess, I would say that its someone else. Still, check the two leads.”

“I’m on it right now. What are you going to do?”

“I’m visiting John Kramer at his house. That should solidify the answer, and if I have to, I will beat it out of him.”

“Good ole Batman interrogation. Works every time.”

With a smile on his face he climbed into the Batplane and zoomed off into the sky with the coordinates set on Kramer’s house.

******

Slipping in through the window, Batman stealthily moved into Kramer’s living room and stumbled on the evident influence of Riddler in the last several days. The glow in the dark question marks, while faded, still promoted him the way his calling cards usually did. _They are not very faded. The traditional paint he uses lasts for several weeks. This must have occurred in the last couple of days._ The tipped over bottle on the floor, the blood stains on the rug, and the spilled food stood as probable signs of struggle. _If he follows his normal MO then Kramer is in for a hell of a ride, especially considering that this is motivated by revenge._

“Robin! Riddler abducted Kramer. Jigsaw took the only reason for him to change; therefore, he will eliminate the cause of the grief. He truly wants to be a changed man Robin. In order to respect her wishes, this will likely be his last action as the Riddler. Symbolically, he will choose the last location that he constructed a Riddler room. That’s where I am going Robin, so stay posted.”

“Ok, but don’t expect too much chatter on the link. I’m at the second location, and I cannot give away my position by talking.”

“Understood.”

Batman prepared to siege the undeniably torturous situation that Riddler created for Jigsaw.

 

# Chapter 25

Kramer rested on the floor to attempt to restrict the amount of calories that he burned. His insatiable appetite compelled him to desperate measures. He couldn’t decide whether or not the filthy stream of water that ran down the wall was a blessing or a curse. Even though it delayed his thirst, it nauseated him and triggered even more powerful hunger pains. With the uncomfortable aspects put aside, he amassed tons of time to ponder the riddle. _It’s got to be obvious. What if the answer is actually nails? Nails are long…and short. Grown? Well finger nails. Oh My God that’s it. The rest if it fits with the riddle too!_

“So! Mr. Kramer how are you doing in there?” Riddler had returned for the first time since the time he left.

“Well actually you came back at the perfect time. I have figured out the riddle.” Kramer walked up and plugged NAILS into the answer slot. The door swung open in a creaking sound of success.

“I’m actually proud of you. Only a couple more rooms. If I had to assign a probability to a living completion, you probably have a 17% chance.”

“Hmm. Comforting.” Kramer walked into the next room and again heard the door slam behind him. This time, he heard the previous room explode from the nail bombs. “What do you have for me now Riddler?”

“Vanna! Show him what he won! Well it looks like you won…” he paused for anticipating effect. “A brand new Riddle! Complete with similar life or death situations that you faced already!” The trap doors in the ceiling indicated that the fatal portion of the riddle would likely fall on top of him. A chalk board autonomously flipped around and displayed his next riddle, WHAT BUILDS UP CASTLES, TEARS DOWN MOUNTAINS, MAKES SOME BLIND, AND HELPS THE VISUALLY IMPAIRED SEE?  While delaying the answer last time allowed him to escape unscathed, he couldn’t endure another couple of days of starvation. Moreover, an infection in his leg set in due to the drill wound. He made the hard decision to sacrifice more health for another hint. The hint location reminded him of a gauntlet trap that his associates helped create where individuals needed to place their hands into tunnels and onto saw blades to fill up a jar of blood. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, put his arms into the tunnels, and pulled the levers labeled PULL FOR A HINT _._ The roaring of belt sanders tore through the silence. The hydraulics within the tunnels squished Kramer’s arms in between the belt sanders in a limb-belt sander-blood and gore-sandwich. Kramer’s screams almost reached the same decibel as the flesh eating machines. The agonizing five seconds of epithelial erosion produced enough blood to run down into a small mold. To receive the clue, he observed the words that appeared in blood within the mold. It read, THE ANSWER IS THE INGREDIENT OF THE BELTS. Injured even further, Kramer walked over to the lap top. The loss of blood and the extreme pain clouded his judgement and decision making skills. _The ingredient of belts? That has got to be leather. The only belts I’ve ever worn were made of leather._ He typed leather into the computer and received an error message.

“Looks like you failed Mr. Kramer. Time to meet your demise.” After finishing his final message, the chutes within the ceiling opened and poured out the actual answer to the riddle; sand.

“It was so obvious with the clue. You’re getting revenge on behalf of all families affected by my work. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Burn in hell! You killed my beautiful Kelly.”

“Wait a second? You mean the girl that died in the trap last week?”

“Of course I mean that wonderful woman!”

“You got the wrong guy! I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t!”

“Save it you monster! You stole everything I ever loved!”

“No it wasn’t me I swear!”

The Riddler switched off the communications systems in to shut Kramer up. “What’s that smell?” Riddler sniffed the air and smelled a foul chemical stench. The overbearing scent forced him out of the control room and into the room behind. “Oh wow. Batman has resorted to using stink bombs now huh?”

“I didn’t want to fight you Nigma. After discovering some recent evidence, it seems that Arnold Wesker, a.k.a. The Ventriloquist has taken the position of Jigsaw and placed Kelly in the trap. Your beef is with Wesker, not Kramer.”

“He still inspired the traps.”

“But he didn’t do it. Let him rot in jail for his crimes. How would you feel if an individual tried to get revenge on you for something you only inspired?”

“Don’t try to rationalize this Batman!”

“I’ll rationalize the irrational! I’ll also pulverize the unjust! Let him go now Nigma!”

With a twist of agility, the Riddler brought his staff down on Batman’s head. For the first time in their lengthy history, the two intellectual giants engaged in physical battle. Unleashing a barrage of batarangs, Batman left lacerations all over Riddler’s exposed skin. Like a traveler in a blizzard, Riddler pushed through and emitted a plume of acidic vapor from the end of the staff and struck the well armored Batsuit in very invulnerable areas. The lack of effect spawned a monster of rage within Nigma. _I could never beat him on the intellectual field. I have to beat him in the physical realm._ He thumped the butt of the staff on the ground which extended into a spear tip. The whirling movement of the staff with the flashing LEDs inside the hilt gave off a hypnotic, disorienting attack. Batman switched on a filter on his eye pieces to prevent Nigma from taking the upper hand. The hard gloves of the suit busted out of several of Nigma’s teeth. Doubling back, Nigma swept at Batman’s feet and repositioned himself right behind his knees. With the butt spike, Nigma penetrated Batman’s all the way through the armoring and about a half inch into his leg. Batman spun around and connected a hard elbow into Riddler’s jaw knocking him down. Riddler ejected the top of the question mark with rocket propulsion into Batman’s chest. Flying through the glass, Batman landed on the pile of sand in Kramer’s death chamber. Batman fired his grappling gun, stabbing the end of the projectile through Riddler’s shoulder, and pulled him into the death chamber as well.

“Nigma! Tell us how to stop the sand or we all die!”

“But Kelly!” He sobbed in return.

“She’s dead! Nothing will bring her back.” Batman remembered back to the terrible night in the ally where his parents died.

“It’s the green wire under the control panel.”

Batman leapt up back into the chamber with the grappling gun and disconnected the wiring. He saved Kramer and stopped the last incarnation of the Riddler. With this situation out of the way, he turned his full attention to Wesker’s plots.

# Chapter 26

Wesker put earplugs in his ears to drown out the shouting and cursing from Two-Face. That man wouldn’t just shut up.

“I’m gonna take a filet knife and slit your belly, pull out your intestines, and use your skull as a bowl!” 

“Billy do you hear this maniac?”

“Yes Arnie I do. It just reaffirms his need for help.”  
“What exactly is his ailment do you think?”

“He has a horrible case of split personality. Just like you used to have. We need a way to let only one personality exist. May I suggest removing one of his faces.”

“Jigsaw removed Mr. Scarface, so we should remove his own dummy. Figuratively speaking of course. I know what we will do.” Wesker walked down into the chamber and spoke softly to Two-Face, “Ok, I need to put you under for a while to get your therapy ready.”

“Don’t you touch me with that needle you freak. I half snitched to the capes to see you come out alive. Mob bosses have mob bosses’ backs. You betrayed the whole code you schizophrenic loonie bin!”

In embarrassment and intimidation Wesker stuttered, “M-m-Mr. Two-Face. I-wa-was never actually a mob boss. Mr. Scarface just ma-ma-ma-made me do all of those mean things. It’s the same way that mean face makes you do all of those bad things that you do.”

“Wow.” He paused. “You really are crazy. You pulled the trigger on every murder. Your mind made those decisions. That dummy could never think! It’s made of wood! If you don’t let me out I’m gonna take a sledge hammer, break your knee caps, and grind your teeth on this gritty floor.”

“No you won’t Mr. Two-Face. Mr. Scarface and I dealt with you way too many times for me to be afraid of you. Your just desperate because you can’t get away.” Wesker took the syringe and injected him with sleeping solution..”

“mmmphh” He grunted. Wesker began working on the trap.

******

Waking up with his bad half sore, Dent saw a plethora of dangerous looking contraptions. He saw his lucky coin on top of a plate with a dropper positioned over the center. The line from the dropper fed into a huge acid tank. Right in front of him, he spied a hefty bowl filled with the dull avocado colored acid. Two-Face’s intro video commenced.

“Hello Harvey,”

“Hello Retard!”

“Ever since the Maroni’s tossed acid in your face,”

“Which ruined my handsome features.”

“Your scarred face produced a split personality.”

“I only have one personality.”

“To keep both personalities in the mix, you flipped your coin to allow the good side of you to surface.”

“I don’t have no good side!”

“In order to help you, you need to destroy one of your personalities. While you took your nap, we implanted about a dozen tiny micro bombs shallowly in the flesh of your scarred face. No matter what, you will lose a face. You can destroy your normal face by putting your face into the bowl of acid. It will also burn through the flesh and destroy the bombs underneath the scarred side. If you do not place your face in the acid, the bombs will blow the scarred side off and leave your normal side. It is your choice. To speed up your decision, you may watch the tiny drops of acid fall on top of your lucky coin. The longer you wait, the more the coin gets destroyed. Make sure you put on the protective goggles. This trap is supposed to help you, not blind you.”

Two-Face heard the hiss of the acid on his coin and immediately gained an immense amount of motivation. Plunging his face into the acid, he thought the happiest thought imaginable, gouging Wesker’s eyeballs out and shoving knives in the holes. He felt the same bubbly feeling that one receives one he or she puts peroxide on an infected wound, except on a scale multiplied by ten thousand and accompanied by unbearable pain. He tossed his head back in a reverberating growl and glanced at the screen showing the condition of the bombs. Unfortunately, they required more acid to disable them. The second dip almost caused him to pass out, but the burning finally melted through the wiring. Because he complied with the trap, Wesker remotely unlatched the restraints and Two-Face chased after his coin; however, the acidic vapors burned through the cable holding the coin up. The increased adrenaline allowed Dent to watch his most prized possession drop into an industrial vat of acid in slow motion. Dent flew up a ladder next to the vat and prepared to drop inside to save his coin.

“No Dent don’t do it!”

Two-Face looked up at Robin in surprise. “Bird boy? Tell Batman to crush that little backstabbing failure Wesker in his windpipe.” He dove into the vat to save his coin but never came back up to the surface.

# Chapter 27

Batman and Robin regrouped after the death of Two-Face. “I reviewed the footage, and I am completely certain that Wesker is the new Jigsaw.” Robin informed Batman.

“Wesker cannot have gone far. The probability of him even knowing you crashed the trap is very low. We need to get to the next trap before anyone else dies.”

The duo sped off in the Batmobile to stop Floyd Lawton from dying. While speeding by an abandoned ally, a rocket propelled grenade rammed into the side of the Batmobile’s wheel. The impact, spinning the car around, induced a change in their plans. “Robin, we can’t let RPG using terrorists roam free tonight, but Lawton needs saving. The only reason that you couldn’t stop Dent from dying was the delayed influx of information. You can save Lawton while I deal with the terrorists.”

“Thanks for the inspirational speech Bruce, but believe it or not, I am not kicking myself for not for Dent’s death.”

Batman responded in confused and slightly hurt silence. “Go get Lawton.” Robin ejected the built in motorcycle from the back of the Batmobile to follow Batman’s orders. Batman stepped out of the vehicle to face his attackers.

“Hey you flying rodent bloak! You are gonna pay for what you did to my nightclub!” The Penguin raised his umbrella and discharged a volley of rounds from the ferrule. Batman maneuvered around the back of the vehicle to block the incoming shots. “How do you like fire!? I’ll roast your bloody corpse with the flames.” Using his cape as a shield, Batman pushed through the fire and booted the monocle off of Penguin’s flabby face. His loyal thugs attacked him in a circular position. This combat situation, one of the first Bruce ever trained for, always ended badly for his sparring partners. In a seamless motion, he dropped each one with powerful strikes and landed a final punch to the back of Penguin’s head.

“This is going to cost you Cobbelpot! You just wasted some valuable time!” Batman picked Penguin up in a fireman’s carry and dropped him ribs first onto an extended knee. “Oracle are you there?”

“Yes Bruce what do you need?”

“I need a mechanic drop at the old Gotham fish packing plant. The Batmobile took substantial damage from an RPG blast.”

“Oh no, is everyone ok?”

“I’m fine. Penguin has some cracked ribs as a reward.”

“Lucky him. Your mechanics drop should be there in less than five minutes.”

“Keep in touch. I may need you later.”

“I was going to pull an all-nighter anyways. Keep me posted.”

# Chapter 28

Deadshot felt preliminary pain in his nose of all places. To both of his sides and right in front of him he perceived double barrel shotguns. Lawton, attempting to sit back, stopped abruptly after noticing a resistance on his fingernails. Whoever abducted him fastened a pair of pliers onto each finger nail and toenail. “Probably got abducted by some weird Sadomasochism cult. Looks like I’m dead.” Wesker’s visual creation appeared on several TVs surrounding Lawton.

“Hello Floyd, your murder for hire lifestyle has destroyed too many families. Of course, guns hold an incredibly important place in society. They help protect against intruders and a totalitarian government; however, your unhealthy obsession has not only hurt other families but your own. Unlike your many victims, you will receive a chance to escape the projectiles from the firearms pointed at your head. As it stands, no effort to avoid the shots will certainly blow your head off. The motorized seat that you are in, which will move backwards if you push the pedal on the floor, will help you escape death. Within this hallway, you will pass through three regions of danger. Like I said, you are in the sudden death zone. Within 10 feet you will enter the probable death zone. Within 50 feet you will enter the possible death zone. The last zone will put you behind a bullet proof glass shield. Each zone will require a personal sacrifice. This will help you Lawton, so try to participate.”

A digital clock began a count down until firing time. Lawton pushed down on the pedal to begin his backwards movement. The resistance on his nails, almost intolerable, eventually gave way to a nauseating ripping noise. Like an infant trying to cry, Lawton continued the descent with his mouth agape. The nails remained inside the grip of the pliers with bits of flesh hanging off of them. _Only two more to go,_ He thought in a dreadful manner. The revving of chainsaws transmuted into a short slashing noise as he passed through the possible death zone. Leaving several lacerations on his arms and legs, he thanked God that at least the chainsaws didn’t cause as much pain as the nail ripping. The further he moved down the hall, he discovered the origin of the soreness in his nose and a brand new pain in his lips and eyebrows. A mirror, revealing fish hooks with small chains connected to the painful areas on his face, prophesied the last portion of sacrifice. To get it over with, Lawton stomped down on the pedal to speed up the process. The hooks in his face, larger than average, obliterated the skin and flesh to which they were attached. Bits of viscera sprayed out. Lawton, remembering back to his old brawling days, preferred a broken nose to the flesh shredding he just experienced. After passing the motion activated doors, two panes of bullet proof glass slid in front of him. The shotguns discharged their buck shot and created an intricate spider web pattern in Lawton’s shield. Like Firefly and Two-Face, this trap failed to change any of his issues.

******

Once again, Robin couldn’t reach the victim in time. Ignorant of his failure, he proceeded through the chilly ventilation shafts within the building. He shimmied down the final section, and dropped down into the room to find Lawton’s injured body.

“Oh God Lawton what did they do to you?” He asked in genuine sympathy.

Deadshot rose his nailless hands up in example, “They tore me up pretty good.”

“Was it Wesker?”

“You mean that psycho puppet guy?”

“Yeah he took over for a serial killer called Jigsaw. Did he play you a video explaining the trap you just experienced?”

“Like with that creepy looking clown doll?”

“Yeah its Wesker. How long has it been since it stopped?”

“Less than five minutes. I still can’t get out of the chair. Maybe he will come in and set me free.”

“We have had differences in the past Floyd, but let’s get this guy.”

“Deal. There better not be a breath left in this guy’s lungs after your done.”

Before Robin could hide, Wesker burst through the door with Billy and some pig masked goons.

“Oh dear!” Wesker turned and ran only to trip over his own feet. Tim Drake took his telescoping staff and went to work. Luckily for the goons, the masks provided enough cushioning to stop potentially fight ending blows. Every thwack of the staff drove them back and allowed Robin to maintain his footing next to Deadshot. Wesker pushed a button that dropped a cage down over Lawton and Robin.

“I had that put in just in case Mr. Lawton here tried to escape before we could let him out. Feed some gas through the shafts in this room please.” He requested of his help. “I think Robin will be the first patient that I select myself.” The climatic reign of Arnold Wesker the independent Ventriloquist Trap Master began.

# Chapter 29

“Oracle! I need you to confirm something for me. Robin’s transmitter is showing that he left the target location and is heading to an undiscussed building. It appears he has activated the alert signal as well. I don’t trust the Batmobile’s location systems yet until I run diagnostics back at the cave.”

“Yes, that does appear to be what’s happening. Is the location on your map close to Arkham? On the west side?”

“Affirmative. I need to get there quickly. If they abducted him, we might have a repeat of past mistakes.”

“Listen while you drive Bruce. I know dozens have already told you that what happened to Jason wasn’t your fault. I’m not saying anything will happen to Tim, but if it does you can’t blame yourself. This new guy has wrecked the lives of some of your most powerful enemies. He is so dangerous to Gotham. He causes almost more chaos than the Joker, but in a much more secretive manner. The latency of the information you have received in the past several weeks will be at fault, not you. Uncooperative suspects and witnesses, concealed files, and constant transportation also played a role. You cannot blame yourself for those you cannot save. Remember what you told me you told Nigma. Don’t blame those that inspired the deaths, blame those that caused them. So, don’t blame yourself for those that you couldn’t save because you didn’t cause their deaths.”

“Trust me Barbara.” He responded in a truly emotional tone. “Whether I should or not, I blame Jason’s death on me and if Tim dies I will blame myself even more. I sent him there. I split the group up to fight an angry nightclub owner. Think of this way Barb, If Tim dies tonight, it is because I chose the Penguin over him…Batman over and out.”

******

Robin and Wesker sat down facing each other. “Umm I didn’t really have time to make you a video, so I’ll just improvise.” Wesker placed Billy on his hand and cleared his throat. “Ok. Hello Robin. You have a misplaced sense of responsibility for helping people. You team up with a masked vigilante that hurts people and makes people go to prison even when they didn’t do the crime. For example, he sent me to prison when Mr. Scarface did all those bad things. So, you will go through a symbolic journey of pain to try to deter you from ever working with the Batman again.” He pointed to a two foot by three-foot tunnel on the other end of the room, and then picked up a spherical like mechanism and forced it into Robin’s mouth. “That thing that I just put in your mouth is called a pear of anguish. During the middle ages, it was a torture device used to punish wrong doers. So basically, I rigged it up to slowly open up. If you don’t do anything to stop it, your jaw will expand to the point of breaking, your teeth will pop out, and a spike inside will puncture the back of your throat and kill you. On the other side of that tunnel that I pointed at, is a key that will stop the pear from expanding. So you can get started after I leave the room.” Arnold Wesker shut the door and watched the scene unfold from behind some double sided glass.

******

Batman blew the charge on the door and entered the building where Robin’s transmitter directed him. Navigating the rundown apartment complex became a more difficult task than he thought because of the lack of personnel and dysfunctional elevator. Floor by floor, he searched the area until he reached the basement.

******

Robin army crawled through the tunnel at an incredibly slow pace due to the three inch carpenters nails that rested on all of the inside surface like carpeting. Every ounce of pressure drove the nails into his hands and legs. The initial shock led him to throw his head back resulting in a bloody scalp. He attempted to pick up the pace, but the stabbing sensations overwhelmed him. Like walking in mud, every removal of his limbs from the nails created a sucking noise. No matter how badly he wanted to scream, the pear of anguish prevented it. He felt it expanding though. It was like the time he tried to fit that oversized jaw breaker into his mouth and had to wait until it dissolved enough to remove it. The lack of blood released a wave of dizziness over him. _Almost there!_ _If I can just make it to the end.!_ Eventually the lack of blood and the emerging spike from the ever expanding pear created hallucinations of an ashamed Batman.

“How could you fail so badly Tim. I believed in you.”

His parent’s chimed in, “Such a worthless child. It’s a shame that we had to get stuck with him.”

Dick Grayson, his best friend within the Bat family topped it off. “I cannot believe Batman gave you the position of Robin. You are weak. You are incompetent. You can’t even get a stupid key at the end of a tunnel.”

He finally exited the tunnel and drug himself up to the key, leaving slippery trail of plasma and hematocrit on the rough concrete floor. He turned the key on the Pear and it shrunk back to its original size. Tim Drake lay shivering on the floor while the air conditioning blew on his blood slick body.

******

Batman power bombed Wesker into a control panel and smashed through the double sided glass. He too crawled through the tunnel, but his armoring protected him from any damage. Scooping Robin up into his arms, tears fell onto his body.

“Bruce that hurts dude. Tears and wounds don’t mix.” He said in a feeble laugh. “I did it though. I completed the trap just to tell you it truly isn’t your fault. I wanted you to hear it from my own mouth.”

“Don’t talk like that Tim! We are going to get you to a hospital and you will survive! If it’s the last thing I do you will survive!”

“It’s not your fault Bruce.” Robin repeated. “Thank you for everything. Tell Dick I said goodbye. Alfred too.”

“No! Tim stay with me!”

Time Drake passed away in his role model’s arms. A grief stricken Batman charged back through the tunnel in a bear crawl like sprint. He was going to break every bone in Wesker’s body. Like an individual with no way out, brief thoughts of murder passed over his mind.

# Chapter 30

Wesker hopped into his car and hit the gas. The rage in Batman’s eyes warned him that he made a grave error in putting Robin in that trap. The results of the trap, unknown to him, terrified him. Originally, he had hoped that Robin would die in the trap to serve as revenge for the perceived “injustice” of Batman’s actions. Now he prayed with all of his mind, soul, and body that Robin had survived the trap. The henchman in the passenger seat pulled out a lap top and played a video for Wesker while he drove close to one hundred miles per hour.

“Hello Arnold, your help has informed me that Batman will likely come after you. I have set up a bunker under Arkham since I escaped from the Riddler’s game room.” That completely confused him, he had never been told about the Riddler capturing Jigsaw. “No one knows it’s there yet, and I paid off all of the hires in that department. You should have a safe escape.”

Batman pushed the Batmobile to its limits. The tracking systems locked onto Wesker and fired a couple of EMP torpedoes. Lifting up onto two wheels, Wesker made a full speed turn around a corner and unknowingly dodged the attack. Batman drifted around the corner and continued the pursuit. The automated destination predictor cycled through the possible outcomes. Factoring in Wesker’s direction and likely turns, it narrowed down the possible destinations to 10. Within 30 seconds of flying through streets, it narrowed to one, Arkham Asylum. Wesker’s brakes screeched as he entered the restricted area established by Jigsaw. The attendees closed the gates only to have Batman blast them off their hinges with his three-ton projectile. The chase’s vicissitude resulted in Batman chasing Wesker on foot into the Asylum. He cornered Wesker into a dark and secure conference room and took out his anger on Robin’s murderer. For five constant minutes, Batman pummeled him in the face and the body, causing catastrophic inflammation and hemorrhaging. Realizing his own brutality, Batman considered his one rule. _No. No matter what he did I won’t kill him. I won’t kill anyone._ He backed off of Wesker’s near cadaver and prepared to call in EMTs.

“I can’t believe it.” A familiar voice spoke over the intercom. “After all of this you still won’t kill.” The incredibly dim conditions lightened and he saw quite a bizarre sight. Riddler and Kramer sat strapped into chairs. Batman swiftly took in his surroundings preparing for another trap. “Don’t worry Batman. No more traps. No more death. It’s time to let you view the results of the experiment.” A shimmering light removed an invisible block from a window in top of the conference room wall. Behind the window stood Professor Hugo Strange. “Let’s start with Wesker. So Batman, I contracted Deathstroke to kidnap The Ventriloquist and kill Black Mask. Before that I paid off Kyle Genicci with the information that he eventually betrayed to The Ventriloquist. I set up the videos, created the wood chipper trap, and destroyed Scarface. Oh by the way boys, bring in Arnie’s long lost foe.” A man in a pig mask came in with an undamaged Scarface dummy.

“No your dead I watched you die! Billy kill him! Don’t let him be mean to me anymore.” Wesker pitifully begged his current dummy. The man, apparently a decent impersonator, responded to Wesker’s pleading in Mr. Scarface’s voice.

“You dirty rat. You let me die in that wood chipper and now your gonna pay. I am gonna ge so mean to ya you won’t know what the meaning of torment is. I’ll geat your head in and make you eat your own teeth.”

“I had a carpenter carve a new Scarface just for our little Arnie.” Strange gloated.

“Why did you do this?” Batman asked desperately.

“After all of our encounters, I would think you would know that I am a man of science and psychology. No matter what we did here at Arkham, we couldn’t break the hold that Scarface had on Wesker. So I decided to put him in a life or death decision to make him betray Scarface and let him die. I had no idea if it would work. He could easily have gone through the wood chipper and we would have a bag of meat and wood chips. After breaking him from the hold, I wondered if I could implant a new personality. I continued the motif of Jigsaw and gave him the same conduit, but just with a new aesthetic. It took on perfectly, and it even allowed him to gain a false sense of worth. I sent him down this path of destruction for the sole reason of curiosity. However, I saw way too many opportunities that I couldn’t waste. That leads us to Mr. Nigma. Kelly did something I couldn’t do. She rehabilitated him. The fact that some peasant off the street fixed this nut job after such a talented man as me failed, infuriated me off. I got my revenge, while also seeing if I could break his rehabilitation. Guess what? It worked. By the way, I was incredibly worried after you investigated the fear trap. I was convinced that you would trace it back to Arkham Asylum considering all the inmates used in that trap. I would like a thank you for killing the Joker and Harley Quin Batman. Even I understand the need to kill those specimens.”

Nigma shook as hard as he could, trying to get out of the restraints. His muffled grunts from behind the gag probably would have weaved a web of curses and threats if he could be heard.

“Then you somehow figured out who the real Jigsaw was. I picked him on purpose due to his brutal life-or-death-scenarios that he created, and because his anonymity has existed until this last week. After learning who the real Jigsaw was, I was fascinated. I tickled as many answers out of him as I could with doses of sodium pentathol and of course mental conditioning. He is a specimen of great worth, and I hope to be able to study his brain in the future.”  
He pressed a button and Kramer dropped deep into the floor, disappearing from sight.

“This leaves us with you. Social experiments again of course. In addition, I love watching you figure out puzzles. Out of all the specimens I can study, you are the most interesting. Hmm. Maybe it’s because I don’t have unrestricted access to you. Anyways, I didn’t plan for Robin to die by Wesker’s hand. But afterwards, I was ecstatic! This was it! You caught a murderer in the act killing one of your most beloved allies. However, you didn’t kill him when you had the chance! I am enraged with you Batman! No situation will prompt you to kill! So, I would like to bring up this heartbreaking fact. Over the past couple of weeks, how many people have you saved from death or harm? Let’s count up who received nonfatal harm: Arnold Wesker, Mr. Oliver, Mr. Carr, Firefly, and Deadshot. Now let’s count up who died: Black Mask, Mr. Gaiten, The Rat Catcher, Mr. Rosario, Joker, Harley Quinn, Kelly Nigma, Harvey Dent, and Robin. Finally, let’s count up the people you have saved: John Kramer. Out of 10 people who needed saving, you saved 1. That’s ten percent. That’s an F on any test. You’re a failure of a guardian Batman. The real kicker out of all of this is, you saved the man that inspired the harm and deaths of all of those people. You saved the one man that you shouldn’t have saved.”

Batman fired a round of explosive jell onto the window and detonated it. Grappling up to the window, he took Hugo Strange and tossed him down below through one of the conference tables. _He’s right. I am a failure of a guardian. The old Batman needs to die and a new one must emerge._ Batman rose Strange to his feet and delivered a round house kick to the side of his skull. _After this night, I will pass the cape and cowl to Dick._ Batman climbed to the top of the building, and swung from a cable connected to the roof and eclipsed the moon. He landed, with Strange in his arms, in front of the GCDP. Hanging around Strange’s neck like a necklace, a flash drive provided all of the necessary information to Jim Gordon and his force on who to prosecute for Strange’s actions. This nightmare finally ended.

# Chapter 31

The size of the case surpassed the capabilities of the GCPD. The U.S. Senate intervened and put together an investigative committee. The dozens of victims and their families, that John Kramer tortured and murdered, received a multifarious arsenal of answers to their conglomeration of questions. Moreover, the winfall lawsuit that occurred left them rich. Unfortunately, it would take approximately 500 years to see all of their money. They purposely sent Kramer down to Texas to receive The Chair. Wesker, his henchmen, and Strange all went back to Arkham. After much persuasion, the committee dropped all formal charges against Nigma; however, the probationary period extended far past the original. He could care less though. With the memories of Kelly in his spirit, he left crime for the rest of his life. Firefly, reinvigorated by his experience in the trap, went on an arson spree that killed about 150 people. Spending most of his time healing, Deadshot reunited with his daughter, gained a position as a welder, and quit the contract killer business. The man involved in the evidence and psychological evaluation of the case, Professor Pygmalion, smuggled home a key piece of evidence from the locker room. Donning the Pig mask himself, the skilled surgeon would one day become a horrendous problem for the city of Gotham. That time had not yet come though. Despite the begging of his allies, Batman retired. The stress and the depression from the case took him to depths that he never wanted to visit again. Begrudgingly, Nightwing accepted the position of Batman and served the citizens of Gotham City for many years. However, the job took a toll on him. Every Batman needs a Robin, but his indecision prevented the selection from occurring. Over coffee one night after Dick had finished his patrol, his indecision unknowingly ended when Bruce declared, “So it turns out I have a son. His name is Damian.”

 


End file.
